Puppy Love
by MaeEmma
Summary: Kurt and Blaine... madly in love. We all knew this day would come, but here's the question... is it just puppy love?  Klaine. All events in the show are irrelevant after 2x14.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee (sadly) or Tide. Or a Tide Stick. I'm just not that cool.

Klaine. Ta-da! Enjoy. **Review.**

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Kurt must of been sitting at least three feet away from him, and all he could smell was mint. It was almost like he was just radiating it. Kurt had seen him spit out this giant green glob into the trash can with his own two eyes before he ordered his coffee, and yet, he still smelled of it. You'd think the coffee would mask it, but nope. It wasn't rare for Blaine Anderson to smell strongly of his gum. Even days when he went without it, one could identify him by his scent. As determined as Kurt had been to find mint-scented body wash, he couldn't find it. It seemed as though the product didn't exist. Thus, the strange but strongly appealing scent of Blaine Anderson was still a mystery.

But it was oh-so attractive. It took a little too much willpower for Kurt not to just lean over the table and just stand their and sniff him.

Of course, this would probably result in the unnecessary attention from the rest of the coffee shop, and most likely a restraining order from Blaine.

"Kurt?"

Blaine had interrupted Kurt from his train of thought. There really should be laws against things like that. "Yes, Blaine."

"Why are you sitting there with you eyes closed, smelling you coffee?" Blaine asked, probably questioning his sanity.

_For you information, I am actually smelling you_r _ridiculously wonderful and attractive scent of wintergreen. And despite the fact my coffee is sitting two inches from my face, your still all I can smell_, _thank you very much._ Kurt sighed. "I like the smell of cream."

"Oh."

This led to four minutes and twenty-three second of a awkward silence consisting of Kurt's epic plot to search "Mint Body Wash" on eBay and Blaine, well, thinking. And, at least in Blaine's wild opinion, nothing good can come of Blaine Anderson thinking, or especially, contemplating. Yet, Blaine Anderson, at that very moment, was contemplating something rather important.

Very important, in fact.

So important, that in fact, this one decision, which at the moment seemed a little selfish and certainly naive, would be the best or worse decision he'd ever made. Not that he knew that or anything.

This awkward silence was ruined by the awfully dapper (or at least that's what everyone thinks) Blaine, as he managed to spill coffee all over himself. As he yelled "Crap!" for the other fourteen people in the cafe, Kurt rushed to the napkins dispenser. Blaine stood up, arms out wide so he could get a good look at the damage.

A seven year old kid was pointing at Blaine, laughing hysterically, screaming, "Look! Mommy! He peed himself!"

The boy's mom was quick to throw her hand over his mouth so he wouldn't cause further embarrassment to Blaine. It was a little to late for that. He ran his hand through his greased-down hair and plopped back down in the chair, sighing. The people in the cafe stopped staring after a good thirty seconds, when Blaine was no longer too interesting, but they still turned around every few minutes to make sure he hadn't down something stupid again that they didn't want to miss.

Kurt handed Blaine a thick stack of napkins, which Blaine gladly accepted, and instantly started working on his pants. The poor boy had managed to stain a place where you really, really don't want to get stained, especially when it's your uniform you have to wear basically everyday for the rest of the year. He knew that Wes and David would get a kick of this, when he showed up to school like this.

Kurt was on his knees, scrubbing the coffee of the floor. He finished, managing to soak the entire stack of napkins.

Blaine, on the other hand, wasn't quite as lucky. Coffee just isn't very good at coming off cotton pants.

Kurt grabbed Blaine by the wrist, pulling him up from his depressed position, leaning back in the chair, and they headed to the back of the cafe, where the men's room was placed. "I have a Tide stick. Never leave home without it." Kurt explained, pulling it out of his back pocket. He handed the orange stick to Blaine, and as they stood outside of the bathroom, Kurt gesturing to door. Blaine took it, questioningly. He walked into the bathroom, slowly, and shut the door behind him.

After what couldn't of been longer then twenty minutes even if it seemed like years, finished with the vigorous scrubbing of those stubborn pants, Blaine came out of the bathroom to find Kurt sipping his second coffee at the same table. Blaine sat down at the table, fiddling with empty stick in his hand.

"Can't even tell it's there unless you look for it," Kurt reassured. _Unless you look for it, _echoed in Blaine's head. He certainty hoped no one was staring at his crotch long enough to notice.

"That was rather terrible." Blaine said, pushing over the Tide stick. "Sorry, I, uh, had to use the rest of it,"

"That's cool," Kurt said coolly, sipping at his coffee, "I have ten more at home." Blaine questioned him inside his head, not trying to ruin Kurt's moment.

Blaine took a long, deep breath. "Kurt, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, sure, what's up?"

"Well, as I was standing in the men's room in my underwear, cleaning coffee stains off my pants lying on a baby changing table, I just, well, I was thinking."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. It takes skill to word a sentence like that.

Blaine held his breath, and then smiled his goofy, toothy smile Kurt absolutely adored, "Your really awesome, Kurt."

"Why, thank you, I'm flatted." Kurt could only hope he had a clue what was going on.

"So, I was just, like, thinking, and, uh, so,"

"Spit it out, boy." Kurt said. That was a little out of character for him, but he couldn't help it. That boy kept leaving him with cliff hangers ever sense he met him.

"I know I've been... weird lately, and I don't know if screwed up teenage gay boy hormones are a good enough excuse, but, uh, do you want to go on a, uh, date with me?" Blaine asked, in the most nervous way he could say it. But that's just how Blaine Anderson rolled when no one was looking.

This was the worst part, those few seconds when you had too wait for an answer. Blaine bit his lip, wondering if he'd waited too long.

It took everything Kurt had not to spray that mouthful of coffee all Blaine's cute and innocent face. He swallowed in a quick, burning hot gulp of steaming coffee. "Did I hear you right? What did you say?"

Blaine gave him a terrible nervous laugh. "Do you want to go on a date with me?"

Kurt's mind had simply been reduced to nothing. He would of thrown his arms around his neck, but there was this stupid table in between them, and walking around it would ruin the moment. "Yes!" Kurt practically screamed, and for the second time today the entire cafe stared at them. Kurt put his head down, and Blaine put his hand over the side of his face, so only Kurt could see the huge, toothy smile plastered on his face.

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PLEASE review and tell me if my destiny of continuing this story is a fantasy or not. Like, please, times twenty-four zillion and two.

**I just added "Klaine" to my dictionary.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Glee is not mine.

So, if you haven't seen "Silly Love Songs" or "Blame it on the Alcohol," this is most certainty be confusing. With spoilers. So, if you haven't already watched those yet, I recommend you do, or if you live in a country where the shows are a little bit later then in America, well that's bad. Eek.

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The day mainly consisted of twirling. For Kurt, anyway.

It's not like twirling through a hallway crowded with teenage boys doesn't attract some looks. Not necessarily positive looks, either. But Kurt didn't care. He usually didn't care on a typical day, either, but it wasn't like that mattered. Even if he did care, he was so absorbed in his own little bubble of glee he didn't notice.

Under his breath (well, not always under his breath, as some passerby's noticed) he sang little love songs in which he'd incorporated Blaine's name into. It was almost nauseating in the point of view of your average, downgrading, hormonal teenage boy. Kurt Hummel was one might call: _love drunk. _

This was simply an excuse for bad pop songs. A smart little way to have a song about drinking _and _meaningless teenage sex. But anyone within a ten mile radius of Kurt would identify him as exactly this. There were the simple signs, mostly brought to date by pop stars: one; an extreme obsession with someone and rather stalker-ish demeanor, two; obviously, acting like your drunk_, _not caring about a simple thing in the entire world but your internal happiness and your "lover" in this situation, three; being Kurt Hummel or a natural human being who crushes and crushes _hard. _

Wes, who had all to innocently confronted Kurt for Glee song ideas, was a little scared, for good reasons. Very good reasons. Kurt wasn't to far out of character, he was always outrageous, but he seriously seemed a little too happy for a sane human being. The conversation went a little like this:

"Hey, Kurt, any idea's for the Warblers?" Wes said, catching up to Kurt in the hallway, who was walking at a gym-class paced walk.

It was exactly nineteen nanoseconds before Kurt's eyes lit up. He smiled, harder then he already was, and that was hard to do, and he may or may not of sprained some face muscles in the proses.

He jumped up on plush chair in the end of the hallway, and he started screaming, throwing his arms in the air, "Every freaking love song in the entire freaking world for God freaking sake!"

Wes jumped back, scared, along with the rest of the boys in the hallway. In the long run, he was just happy he didn't start singing to the hallway.

Kurt jumped off the chair, finishing with a twirl, nearly slapping a kid in the face with his arms spread out.

"Hey, uh, Kurt, you in love or something?" Wes said, grabbing his shoulder to stop him from spinning. It was a tough conclusion, but Wes somehow found out.

Kurt put both hands on Wes's shoulders, giggling, leaning back, almost taking Wes and him down to the floor. "Oh, yes, and Wes, love is a beautiful thing, is it not?"

Wes pulled him back up to his feet, "So, uh, who's the lucky guy?"

Kurt yelled, "Blaine, Blaine Anderson," before skipping off to class.

This is where stuff gets serious.

The young and dapper Blaine Anderson and the Lady Gaga crazed Kurt Hummel. Something just didn't fit. Wes was quick to share this news with David, and David, not exactly being a quiet one, did what you just_ don't_ do in a situation like this one:

"Blaine freakin' Anderson!" David yelled, as he approached Blaine in the hallway.

Blaine raised an eyebrow, "Yes?"

"Are... you... insane? You and Kurt? It's the apocalypse! I knew it! _I knew it!" _David screamed to the hallway. Blaine looked down at the floor so no one could recognize him. He was wondering why his life suddenly involved so much staring.

"Shut up!" Blaine hissed. giving him a glare that could break glass.

David put his hands oh his shoulders and shook him, "_You and Kurt?_"

Blaine pushed him off, "Your going to get in trouble if a teacher sees you... or I decide to report you."

"Whatever, but explain yourself, woman!"

"Come on, man, that's just mean."

"Explain yourself, _man._"

"I don't know, why would I want too know that your being a complete jerk."

"Please, please, please. I'm so confused. I might die. And that would be bad. So explain, _please."_

"What is there to explain? I asked him out, the end."

David stood in front of him, his mouth hanging open. "_You_ asked him out? This _is_ the apocalypse. When the government calls, tell them I called it."

Blaine hissed under his breath, and just began to walk off.

David started to walk with him, and at the fast pace Blaine was going at it seemed more like aerobics class them walking. "Just tell me, why, oh why, do you like him? I mean you are the most normal and proper person I know, and Kurt is, like, well, not. At all."

"He's, uh, cute. Talented. Uh, uh... nice. Really nice-" Blaine stopped walking, staring at the floor, continuing to 'uh.'

"There you go, exactly what I thought. _Puppy love._"

"What! I mean, no!"

"Face it, Blaine. Don't you find it a little convenient how _right _after not only that Jemimah kid breaks your heart and the New Directions girl proves you gay, you fall right in love with little Kurt?"

"It is _not _puppy love. Puppy love is when your all obsessive or whatever. You have puppy love when your five."

"Exactly. You have puppy love when behind it all, it doesn't mean anything."

"It means something! I mean, yeah! Kurt and I have been friends for a while and whatever. And, I like, you know, _like _him."

"God, Blaine. Face it. You don't really care about Kurt. You care about having a boyfriend. That's it."

"I do so!"

"Alright, tell me one thing about Kurt that makes so love him so much, it's the only reason you get up in the morning. One thing, other then his rather feminine approach and his," David made a fake cough noise, while make air quotes with his hands, "cuteness, do you really love?"

Blaine looked at his shoes. He really didn't have a answer to this. Oh, but _puppy love_. That sounded disgusting. Like Blaine was just a lovesick puppy, which Blaine, of course, mentally fought against. He didn't want to believe it. But, the truth was, and somewhere deep down, he knew it, he just wanted to have a boyfriend. Whether it was Kurt or any other gay guy on the street, he just wanted to have the pride of having a boyfriend. Kurt just happened to be the one closest by; or the one most likely to say yes.

Blaine pushed his hair back, a nervous habit of his, and his hand came back greasy with hair gel. He wiped it on his uniform pants that you'd think had already suffered enough abuse today.

"It's not puppy love. I'm just... uh... looking at my options. I don't have an answer yet, but I will soon, I promise."

David raised an eyebrow. "You were looking at your options last week, and how did that turn out?"

Blaine was silent. He walked to class, but it was okay, David wasn't really expecting an answer.

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Reviews? I did just write a fan fiction at five am. I think I deserve it. Plus, I'd like, love you. So you should anyway. :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee. Or Kohl's. Or really any nouns at all. I do own awesome. Of course, that's an adjective.

So this chapter is mostly fluff- or at least my kind of fluff were it's nice for a second and then it gets all awkward. I'm just weird like that. Thank you to the moon and back for reviews. And three things: one, "Sexy" is on tonight (at least for me anyway. I'm so excited!) and I have _no _idea what the plot is going to be like, but whatever happens isn't significant to this story, two, oh my word, today at my chorus concert rehearsal another school sang Halo mashed up with Walking on Sunshine, which is one of my favorite Glee songs, (and yes, they did get it from Glee), it was so awesome. I was bugging everyone about it for the rest of the day. I think it's a sign. And three, to **njferrell **, thank you for the reviews, and I feel like such an idiot, but I actually have no idea what their personality's are like or whatever, so I kind of just made them up. I don't know if the real Wes and David would say anything like that, but I decided their kind of twits and can't see a "normal" person and a Kurt together.

Also, (sadly), this same thing happened to me... except I didn't have a Kurt. I had a mom. Plus, I sort of tore down a shower curtain... oh well.

Thank you everyone for the reviews! They mean a lot!

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Blaine Anderson was muffling a scream to the sting of fancy shampoo in his eye.

It stung so much- it was like _knives_. Or like some wasp stung him right in the eye. That happened to him when he was five, and it felt fairly similar to this.

He freaked out. He kept his eyes closed tight, muttering swears under his breath. He only had one solution, or at least, the best one he could think of in a crisis like this one.

He stepped out of the shower, almost tripping over a bathmat, and called the one person who probably knew what to do in a situation like this.

There was one and a half ring until they picked up.

"Oh! Hi Blaine!" Blaine could hear a faint giggle, but he dismissed it quickly.

"Kurt!" Blaine yelled into the phone like it was the end of the world.

"Blaine? What's the matter? Is everything okay?" Kurt said, distressed, reaching for Finn's cell phone across the table if he needed to call 9-1-1.

"No! Kurt, I got shampoo in my eyes. Oh my God, Kurt, I can't see anything. I think I'm going blind!" He yelled.

Blaine heard Kurt laughing on the other end and felt a little offended.

"This is serious, Kurt, if I can't go blind! I wouldn't be able to read sheet music! I'm going to die!"

"Blaine," Kurt said, trying to console him, "Your not going to die or go blind. Now, slowly, open you eyes."

"I can't! It stings!"

"I know! This same thing happened to me last month. You have to open your eyes so you'll tear and the shampoo will come out. It'll work, I promise."

Blaine took a deep breath. "Okay..." he whispered. Slowly, like he was in some bad horror movie, he opened his eyes.

He bit his lip so he wouldn't scream, and moaned unnecessarily loud (or at least Kurt thought it was unnecessary) and closed his eye quickly. _I'm such a wuss._

"It didn't work!" Blaine hissed.

"Well, that was loud enough I'm going to guess that's sulfuric acid, and some how your eyes haven't melted out of their sockets yet."

Blaine didn't really appreciate Kurt's sarcasm.

"I take it you can't read the bottle."

"God, no."

"Run water under your eyes. Where do you live? I need to see whether this is as serious as you claim it is."

Reluctantly, Blaine told Kurt his address and hung up. He really wouldn't of, but at this point it didn't seem like he was capable of, say, calling the paramedics.

Suddenly, Blaine realized something, something rather terrible.

Blaine was naked.

Kurt would probably be over in ten minutes. He couldn't open his eyes, so he had no clue where his pants where.

He completely regretted _today _being the day he decided not to bring his clothes with him in to the bathroom. His bathroom was right next to his room so he didn't have to worry about trudging through a two story house, blind and naked. Granted, his parents weren't home so he wouldn't have to worry about the second part, but it really didn't make it much less awkward, somehow.

He was able to open the door.

Unfortunately, that was his only great achievement.

He walked strait into the bedside table with annoyingly sharp edges. It might of been okay, except he, by no means, was expecting it. Plus, trying to hold onto a two-feet tall table for support is not what a normal person would call productive.

He pulled the table down with him, which, thankfully, was only holding a glass full of grape juice. The glass didn't shatter on the rug, but it must of left a puddle of purple on his bright white rug.

His shin hurt terribly. There didn't feel like there way blood, but it was most certainty bruised.

Blaine gave up trying to get to his closet. He pulled the black comforter over the bed off and wrapped himself in it. Then he lied on the floor of his bedroom, leg throbbing, eyes sting, naked, wet, and his hair _still _was sudsy with shampoo in the midst of all of this. He stayed like that for ten minutes until he heard the cheerful doorbell ring downstairs.

No one was home but him. He screamed as loud as he could, "Kurt! Upstairs!" Of course, there was no way Kurt could of heard him.

A minute later, Blaine heard his phone ring. He'd left it all the way in the bathroom. The ever mighty Blaine Anderson, moaning, hobbled to the door, eyes closed, one hand reaching in front of him, the other holding the blanket up, following the sound of his 70's song ring tone he desperately needed to get rid of.

He picked it up. "Kurt, open the door. I'm upstairs, first door on the... right. I think."

"Uh, cool. You okay? Are you rinsing you eyes in water?"

Blaine swore in his head for forgetting. "No."

Kurt sighed and hung up as he slowly opened the door. He made a pretty funny face, with quite a few different meanings behind it.

Across the room, Blaine was standing in the bathroom with the door wide open. He had covered himself in a thick blanket. He was still holding the phone to his ear.

"Kurt, is that you?"

"Yes, Blaine. I'm not on the phone anymore, you can put it down."

"Oh, okay. The, uh, shampoo bottle. It's in the shower. Come in here."

Kurt walked in the bright yellow bathroom, which was huge. Blaine sort of lived in a snotty rich kid kind of neighborhood. Of course, he went too a snotty rich kid private school, too.

Kurt reached for the bottle lying on the floor of the shower. In that moment, he looked for mint body wash. No such luck.

He looked at the blue shampoo bottle, which, in fact, was conditioner. Stylist brand. Non-organic. Blaine was clearly deficient in his hair care knowledge.

"God, Blaine, this isn't organic. Of course it stung. And it's probably bad for your hair, anyway."

"I don't know any of this stuff. Sorry."

Kurt sat on the edge of the tub, reading the back of the bottle. "Blah, blah, blah. Ah ha! Found it. 'If irritation continues after flushing with water, call poison control.'"

Blaine gulped, "Poison control?"

"Yeah. You might be allergic to something in the ingredients. Or something." Kurt said 'or something' in such a way that it made Blaine shutter.

"Well, seeing as how you completely ignored me when I suggested this, let's try rinsing you eyes. Which probably would have been the logical thing to do in the first place. But whatever."

Blaine was silent for a second before muttering, "Uh, well, see, um, could you, like, maybe- pants?" Blaine bit his lip. He could feel the dense awkwardness in the air. With the hand not holding the blanked up to his neck, he pushed back his sudsy hair, and for one, instead of greasy hair gel, wet suds came back.

Kurt nodded, then he realized he couldn't see him, so he said, "Yes."

At the end of his bed, their was a hamper and he grabbed the first thing on the top. He tossed a pair of orange basketball shorts to Blaine. Of course, he missed it, but was able to find them on the floor after they hit his face.

"I'm not looking."

Blaine put his pants on. There were a lot of things that were strange about that sentence.

"Okay," Blaine said, "I'm good."

Kurt turned to Blaine. He almost did a full on swoon like preppy girls do in the movies.

Blaine probably worked out: this would also explain the basketball shorts, though. He looked kind of like Sam in Rocky Horror when he was shirtless (maybe even better.) Kurt was afraid that he found Blaine very, very attractive- not that he didn't think that when he was fully clothed, either. His wet hair fell in his face with cute little suds in it, his smooth tan skin shining from the wet water still on him. If Kurt had thought Blaine was attractive in his school uniform and his greased back hair, Kurt must of thought he was a Photoshoped figment of his imagination now.

Kurt steered him to the shower, his hands on his cold back. He turned the water on, and ordered Blaine to sit on the floor of the shower.

Kurt sat on the edge of the tub, "First thing's first , we've got to get the conditioner out. Tilt your head back."

Even Blaine was probably capable of doing it himself, Kurt ran his fingers through his hair to get the conditioner out, like his mom used to do to him when he was really little, when she used Baby Johnsen's shampoo in his hair, specifically so it wouldn't sting his eyes.

It was wonderful. His hair was soft, smooth. Thick whisps of curls untangled as he ran his fingers through it. It was long, and without the hair gel keeping it darker, it was a beautiful, dark brown with little light brown sun streaks he must of kept from last summer that felt like it was years ago.

"That feels nice." Blaine whispered. It was barely audible through the loud shower head. Blaine wasn't lying; it was like he was massaging his scalp, or he was just really determined to pull out every last bit of hair gel from his head.

Kurt did the procedure longer then needed, much, much longer then required to get the conditioner out, and he only stopped because the water was starting to run cold. Visible goose bumps appeared on Blaine's bare back.

"Okay. Eyes now. Open them." Kurt instructed, but gently, as if to say, _sorry I kind of ruined the moment. _

Blaine did so, despite it stinging terribly. As Blaine sat cross legged in the shower, Kurt sat on his bed, reading the back of the bottle, after commenting of the knocked over table and puddle of juice. "So why did you use this stuff anyway?" Kurt asked. Blaine never really seemed like a very fashion sensitive guy like himself.

"I don't know, it was at Kohl's. It said it controls curls."

Kurt almost sounded mad. "Now why would you do a thing like that? Your curls are extremely cute, and you know it, you just won't admit it." Kurt lectured. Blaine smiled. Kurt had never seen Blaine's real curls, just the end of the day effects of his hair gel starting to fail. But Kurt was kind of a sucker for curls, and he wanted, more then anything, to see Blaine without gel masking them.

Ten minutes later, Kurt's cell phone rang. After convincing his dad he _was _at Mercedes house, he was told to leave so Finn could use his truck to get take-out for dinner.

He may or may not of borrowed Finn's truck to get here.

He hung up, and told Blaine he had to go. As Kurt left the room, Blaine yelled, "Kurt?"

"Yeah?" Kurt said, hopeful that Blaine would confess his love for him in the remaining seconds of his presence or something.

"Remember. Breadsticks. Six. Friday."

That was good enough. Kurt's smile was plastered on to his face for the rest of the day.

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That was long, but I got really in to it. I hope you like it! **Review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Me no owns Glee.

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"Oh, it was wonderful. we must have been sitting there for thirty minutes while I rinsed his hair."

"Shirtless?" Mercedes asked again. "He was still shirtless?"

"Uh huh, still shirtless." Kurt nodded. He swooned, falling back onto his bed with his forearm over his forehead like a damsel in distress. Mercedes couldn't see Kurt's eyelashes flutter as he said it, but she knew it as she talked to him on the phone.

Finn had paused outside the door so Kurt couldn't see him. He'd just gotten downstairs, and that was all he'd heard. It had gotten extremely weird extremely fast. Kurt must have been talking on the phone to Mercedes. Whenever he heard them on the phone, it was about clothes or the mall or whatever. This didn't sound like an expensive designer jacket.

"How'd he look, ya know, shirtless?" Mercedes said, laughing. She was so happy for Kurt. He'd found an actual nice, gay boy to fall in love with.

Kurt flew back up into siting position on the end of his bed, "Oh my God, Mercedes, he was _so _sexy." Kurt giggled.

Finn held his breath. He was considering what it might be like to die of awkwardness. He hadn't even approached Kurt yet, and still, he was so mortified he felt his face flush. All he knew was Kurt was washing this unknown shirtless guy's hair. Maybe Kurt got a job as a hairdresser or something and had a crush on a client. Finn really shouldn't be freaking out.

"He was rather nice looking when he was drunk at Rachel's party, and God, that boy can dance. Very sexy." Mercedes said sarcastically, laughing. He actually had looked good dancing at that party... until he started falling over from getting dizzy.

"Mercedes! Shut up, he was drunk." Kurt yelled into the phone, but he laughed, despite the fact he never wanted to hear the words 'Rachel's party' again.

Finn froze against the wall. He guessed that ruled out hairdresser.

"So, you are technically dating now, right?" Mercedes asked.

"Not till six on Friday!" Kurt shouted, giggling.

"Oh my God, Kurt! What are you going to wear? Friday's tomorrow!" Mercedes sounded genuinely worried. That was why Kurt loved her so much.

Kurt gasped, "Your right. I got to get something good, maybe a little sexy. Ha! I know! Spinney jeans!" Kurt practicality screamed, "Oh, oh, and that blue button-up shirt with the little pattern on the bottom... and a scarf. My shiny white one. Oh, that would be perfect."

Finn should of been able to relax, just clothes, right? Except now Finn was trying to picture a Kurt in skinny jeans, unbuttoning his shirt in front of this shirtless guy. He shuddered, disturbed.

Mercedes rolled her eyes, "Your kidding, right? I mean, I love that shirt and that scarf would go great with it, and you could _rock _a pair of skinny jeans. But they kind of, uh, contrast each other, don't you think?"

Kurt threw his head back, "Hey, I got to impress him, right? Get him excited?" he laughed.

Kurt was being sarcastic. Unfortunately, Finn didn't seem to understand this. He couldn't hold it in anymore.

Finn burst into the room from his hiding place behind the wall, and yelled, "What the _hell_, Kurt?"

Kurt was instantly offended, by not only Finn completely invading his private business, but Finn's appalled look plastered on his face, looking flustered with eyebrows raised at an unnatural height. He practically spat on Kurt when he said hell. What was Finn's concern? This was none of his business. He wasn't Kurt's dad. Sometimes, when Kurt didn't admire him, he absolutely hated him. They had a very distinct relationship.

"Sorry, Mercedes, gotta go, I've found a Finn questioning my right to existence. I'll call you tomorrow." Kurt said into the phone. Mercedes just barely had a chance to fit in a "Good luck with that one," Kurt snapped the phone shut with one hand.

"Can I help you, Finn. This must be very important," Kurt said, voice dripping heavy sarcasm, and this time it was no longer the laughable kind.

"I heard you where taking a shower with your sexy boyfriend," Finn yelled, glaring right back at Kurt. It was kind of like an unconscious staring match. First one to give in and look away lost.

"Well, he's not my boyfriend, and I wasn't taking a _shower_ with him, thank you very much for your concern, though."

Finn grabbed a chunk of hair, ready to pull it out of his head. "So why the hell where you watching this shirtless guy take a shower or whatever? Last time I heard, you where against teen sex and stalking."

The air was dense with rage. It didn't help calm Kurt down.

"Who are you to judge my relationships? Last time _I _heard, you had thought you'd gotten the head cheerleader pregnant until you found out she was cheating on with you on some tough guy who ended in Juvy a couple months later. Not to mention your terrible cheating problems and your arrogance, no, of course I wouldn't mention that too."

Finn ground his teeth. There was a very good chance of his fillings becoming dust. Finn had lost, he'd looked to the ceiling so Kurt couldn't see his face turn rosy red from the mortification. But there was no way Finn would let him get away with this, winning. Kurt hadn't even officially won yet. Suddenly, the most malicious plot was glued to Finn's head, and with Finn's mix of stubbornness and rage, nothing could stop him from this.

"So I take it you haven't told Burt about your little crush yet, have you?" Finn hissed, smiling the most painfully evil smile Kurt had ever seen. Kurt's smile dropped, the pride of almost winning dying down in mere seconds. Kurt tried to tell himself, _he wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't. _But Kurt knew that the hideous truth was that he was lying to himself.

Kurt didn't even need to give a strait answer, his face said it all. In seconds, Finn had stomped up the stairs and yelled so loud that Kurt could hear from downstairs (which was kind of the point), "Burt! Your son took a shower with his boyfriend!"

It was official. Kurt had lost.

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I love cliff hangers. Don't you? Sorry. I would of wrote more, but I haven't updated in a while (two days, I know, shun me). Plus cliff hangers lead to reviews... which I love!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **If owned Glee, this would be an actual episode. It isn't, is it?

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The second Kurt pushed Finn down after he ran up the stairs and saw his father's face, the feeling that fell over him was devastating, like his father would never really trust him again. Or like his son had betrayed every single rule, every single promise he'd made. Just last week, Kurt had promised to never, ever be inappropriate again, not that he had been in the first place. Kurt had never hated Finn more in his life, not that they had to many screaming matches similar to the one they'd just had, if ever. Finn had called him a fag once, after Kurt had attempted to make a nice room, but it wasn't like that time he'd gotten Kurt in any trouble, or in any trouble for something he didn't even do. Kurt hated the way Finn made it sound, _"Burt! Your son took a shower with his boyfriend!" _Emphasizing how Kurt was his son, how he should be ashamed of Kurt. How Finn had said "boyfriend" in such a revolted manner that it made Kurt sound, once again, like a worthless fag.

Burt, who had been sitting across the table from Carole, previously waiting for Kurt to come up for their gourmet dinner of greasy Chinese take out. The entire Finn had even gone down to Kurt's forbidden girlie room was to inform him dinner was ready under Burt's instructions. Burt's mouth was full of brown rice, and the smile he'd had from talking to Carole had dropped like a penny of a skyscraper; fast. His mouth was hanging open so everyone could see his partly chewed up food, which wasn't particularly attractive. Not that it was the focus right now.

"Dad! He's lying! He's just mad at me!" Kurt screamed. He'd completely forgotten about his rage. Now he just feared his father would believe Finn.

Burt took a minute to swallow his rice, and contain his sudden reeling feelings he couldn't quite identify. "Finn, that's not funny, your kidding, right?"

"No, Burt. I wouldn't kid about something like that," Finn said, dead serious. The look on Burt's face had distracted even Finn from his stubborn motivation to humiliate Kurt.

Burt looked shock, mouth open, scanning the scene around him, almost confused, in a daze from this sudden shock. "Kurt," Burt breathed, "Was this the boy who was in your bed last week?"

Finn was shocked by this, his eyes widening at his mother who was looking at Finn a little dazed, maybe even disappointed at Finn for tattling.

"Dad, last week Blaine was drunk, he couldn't drive home and I didn't know where he lived. So I brought him over here. No clothes where removed from bodies and I slept on the couch even though it completely ruined my hair. And I didn't take a shower with Blaine, again, I swear, but it was a long story and I'm sorry for the misinterpretation. Finn was the one listing to my conversation with Mercedes." Kurt said, practically begging for forgiveness in his voice.

Burt gestured to an empty seat at the dining table, "Please, explain."

Silently, and without making eye contact, Kurt pulled out a chair next to Carole, making a terrible scratching noise. Kurt sat next to Carole. He loved Carole. She was nice, and extremely _motherly_, not that she'd ever, ever be able to replace the mom Kurt barely even remembered anymore. But a nice step mom was better then the looming absence of a real mom. As Kurt had sat down, Carole had given him a smile that silently said, "Even if you did do something terrible, I'll still be here for you." Of course, Burt's face was far from comforting, just a intimidating glare that meant, "I'm disappointed in you,"

"Finn, you too. sit down. We are going to have a family discussion and like it." Burt said, almost demanding that we enjoy this awkward talk.

Finn did as told, sitting across from the table from his mom. Kurt was glad Finn didn't give him some nasty bragging look, or maybe stick out his tongue. As stupid sounding as that was, Finn would be one to do this. Kurt didn't know if he would of been able to handle it without loudly cursing at Finn.

The silence couldn't of lasted too long before Burt nearly hissed of frustration, "Go on."

"Uh, alright, okay," Kurt mumbled, still looking at the table. He forced himself to look at his fathers face. He took a deep breath, and everything suddenly flew out. "Well, Blaine got conditioner in his eyes."

Burt raised an eyebrow but didn't object.

"So he called me because he thought he was going to go blind. I ended up coming over because Blaine couldn't read the bottle and see what to do and his parents weren't home so they couldn't help him. So I borrowed Finn's truck and-"

Finn did his cross between being mad and confused face, which Finn had used a lot back in the days of Quinn. "You took my truck to go see your freaking boyfriend?" Finn yelled.

Carole scolded Finn with a motherly sounding, "Finn Hudson!" But no one really noticed, especially Finn.

"So you weren't with Mercedes? You where with this Blaine kid? You lied to me?" Burt asked, almost looking hurt. Kurt wanted all to terribly to slap himself in the face for saying anything about Finn's precious, falling apart truck.

"I'm sorry! It was an emergency! I had to take the car. Dad, I lied, yes, but it just seemed like the simplest thing to say at the moment, I guess. I'm really, really sorry. I was just being an idiot." Kurt said, pleading with his eyes to forgive him. Truth was, it probably wouldn't of been to terrible to just say, "I'm at Blaine's," at the time. He knew why he said it, though. He knew his father would rather hear he was with a girl then a boy.

Burt sighed, "I forgive you, and I know Finn does too," Burt glared at Finn, as if to say, your not allowed to be mad anymore. "Continue, Kurt."

"So I went to his house and helped get his eyes clean. The end." Kurt said, leaving out quite a few not-so-unimportant details.

"But, but, Kurt, he wasn't wearing a shirt, was he?" Finn said accusingly, pointing to him. He had to prove it wasn't that simple. If not, that might just me Kurt would win because Finn would seem like the idiot who made this entire thing up.

"Well, uh, no. Not really. But he was wearing pants and everything. He'd just gotten out of the shower and he was blind, he didn't really have the ability to get on a full outfit or whatever. But Finn goes to the pool and sees girls in skimpy bikinis all the time. What's the difference?" Kurt said. He was proud of himself, at least, until Burt started talking.

"The difference is, Kurt, that you where alone in a house and I didn't even know you where there." Burt said.

Kurt glared right at Finn, who he was still technically competing with, "You know, just like the time Finn was with Quinn. Or Rachel. Or Santana."

Carole had really only known about Quinn, which certainly gave Kurt points. The entire Glee club knew about Finn's ever changing sexual partners. Finn looked like he'd been hit by a bus.

"This isn't about Finn, Kurt. This is about you." Burt said. This maybe took away one or two or Kurt's points, but he was still pretty sure his points had exceeded Finn's at this time.

"Okay, I'm sorry. But that's the end. I'm sorry about lying and taking Finn's truck."

"Thank you, Kurt." Burt said. He sounded like one of his parenting books.

There was an silence around the table, just clarifying this was the end of this. Kurt smiled a little bit, figuring he'd won, because no one at this table had any doubt Carole would confront him about Rachel and Santana tonight, not now, though. There had been enough 'discussion' for tonight.

"Alright, let's dig in."

Kurt got up from his chair, "Sorry. Internet myth says grease is bad for my pores. I have to study this and see whether I must become a vegan or not. I'll be in my room. I kind of just hung up on Mercedes."

Burt sighed, putting his hand to his face. So much for a family dinner.

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**Reviews?** Please? I beg you! They make my day! And yes, behind your computer screen, there is a real, geeky girl who spends her classes writing a fanfiction about Glee and gay boys.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Me owns Glee NOT. Or Lady Gaga or Adam Lambert or Coach or Frosted Flakes. I think that's all I said in this chapter...?

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Kurt Hummel wasn't the always the most self confident person. Even if he did end up to school in a Lady Gaga costume every now and then, that didn't mean by the time he got to school and the staring and laughing started he regretted it.

By the near end of eighth grade, he had just started to learn that it doesn't matter one anyone thinks of you, if they don't like you, that's their problem. As this idea progressed, eventually he even manged to get out of closet. But still, even though he understood they were just jerks and he didn't want them to like him anyway, that doesn't make it just not hurt when someone laughed. Or pointed. Or straightforward just called him a fag. There was always this paranoid thought, deep down, that even his friends, his father, Blaine, where disgusted by his stereotypical gay attitude.

Sometimes Kurt loved being the yellow marble in a crate of blue ones. Sometimes he hated it.

Truth was, Kurt envied Blaine. For the weirdest thing a gay kid could envy. Blaine got, well, the girls.

It was almost like, because he was devastatingly cute and maybe even freakishly sexy, that made it okay for him to be gay. It was like anyone could do anything if they where good looking. Maybe Kurt wasn't necessarily ugly, but he didn't wear the stuff guys where supposed to wear: baggy jeans and sweatshirts. Sure, Blaine didn't wear that, but that was because he never took his uniform off. Kurt really doubted that Blaine ever and would ever dress like Kurt, because Kurt was just the one out of a million who actually followed what stereotypes are supposed to do.

But Kurt was positive that Blaine had never been picked on by a girl. Girls where to busy hoping there openly gay friend would turn strait. Blaine said he'd been picked on by a guy at his school. Maybe Kurt was just being naive. Or maybe Blaine really was a magic, non-bullied gay guy.

The entire reason this thought was brought up because Kurt was standing in front of the mirror in skinny jeans. Strait guys wore skinny jeans, right? Skinny was the new baggy for gangsters, right? Kurt bit his lip. He was lying to himself. The only guy he'd ever seen in skinny jeans was Adam Lambert. Adam Lambert was strait. _Oh God, Kurt. Adam Lambert is not strait, and you know it. You've known it even sense you started drooling in front on the TV when he auditioned for American Idol. _

They where black. Very standard, black, skinny jeans. Maybe no one would think he was wearing skinny jeans, just jeans a couple sizes too small. Yeah. That was normal, right? If you where jeans a couple sizes too big, why not too small? He could just tell Blaine he mistaken these for a different pair of jeans he was ready to give to Goodwill anyway. Then he'd seem normal _and _like he wasn't trying so hard.

Who was he kidding. Kurt Hummel wasn't normal, and it was painfully obvious he was trying possibly a little too hard to impress Blaine.

Aside from his jeans, he was wearing a baby-pink button up shirt with black threading that made it look all the more sophisticated. Over that, he was wearing his favorite shiny white scarf.

For Kurt, he looked, well, almost normal.

It was funny how only for Kurt could spending less time on your outfit mean trying harder. Kurt had even made a point of stuffing his cell phone in his pocked (which looked odd and it bulged out) instead of stealing Carole's Coach purse or something.

He had maybe taken two hours to perfect his hair and makeup, but even trying to look normal was no excuse for messy hair and bad complexion.

As he pushed the last strand of dark brown hair into place, it occurred to him: Kurt Hummel was going on his first date.

Other then the root-beer flavored Brittney and her painful memory so long ago. But other then that which didn't exactly count, Kurt had never been on a date before. Never. Ever. Ever.

_Ever._

He really almost got sick. Ever sense he met Blaine, he'd been preparing, wishing for this day. Now he just couldn't wait to get it over with. What would he say? What would he eat? What if Blaine did something cute and Kurt had to giggle or something? Then what would he do? You don't _giggle _on a date. You don't twirl your hair and mess it up, either, but Kurt knew it would happen if Blaine did so much as blink. He had so much product in his hair right now, the twirl would be frozen into place. What would he do then? Of course, he'd have to hide out in the bathroom and blame it on a sudden and terrible flu. But what would Blaine think? What if he thought Kurt just didn't want to be on a date? Or what if he was so revolted by the fact Kurt had gotten sick on a date that he stopped talking to him? Or he didn't leave a Kurt had to come out, looking fine and not-sick?

Kurt mentally slapped himself. He was over reacting. _Overreacting. _He just needed to calm down. Eat some Frosted Flakes or something.

Oh, but what if he got lettuce in his teeth? Or garlic breath? Or sauce on his face? Or a stain on his new shirt? What would Blaine think then? Would he think he was some kind of pig? Or what if Kurt did everything perfectly, and didn't get any garlic breath or lettuce in his teeth or sauce on his face or a stain on his shirt? Would Blaine think he was trying to hard and avoided human error? Could he do something in the middle? Get lettuce in his teeth or get garlic breath or get sauce on his face or get a stain on his shirt but make a point of noticing he did it? Or would that just make it seem like he was a pig _and _trying to hard?

Kurt bit his lip, hard, panicking.

Should he not go? Tell Blaine he was sick and couldn't make it? Or would Blaine think he was lying? But what if he completely screwed up the date? He couldn't go. He couldn't. Oh, but he had too. _Stand up and face it, Kurt, be a man. _He could cough into the phone, though, sniffle a lot so it sounded a lot more like he was sick, right? But Blaine saw him at school today, giddy and well as ever. Blaine would know he was faking. Or maybe he could just call Blaine and tell him he was to nervous, just tell the truth. But then, wouldn't Blaine be mad because he was such a wimp he couldn't go to a two hour dinner? What if he did go? What if he did screw it up? What was the worst that could happen?

Oh, yeah, Blaine could just stop talking to Kurt and start spreading terrible rumors about him at school and give him those terrible, questioning glances like everyone else did. But Blaine wasn't that kind of person, was he? Kurt was being mean, thinking these things about Blaine. But what if Blaine just decided, in a polite, Blaine-like way, that he didn't want to be with Kurt? That would crush Kurt even more then him being mean about it. If Blaine was polite about it, that would mean Blaine was still the most wonderful boy in the entire world.

What if Kurt got dumped by Blaine and grew up to be an old, unmarried, ugly gay guy with too many cats?

Kurt sat down on the end of his bed, eyes wide with fear. What if Blaine had only asked Kurt out in the first place because he felt bad for Kurt? What if Blaine thought Kurt would end up a crazy old man with too many cats, too? What if he was only asking Kurt out because he thought he might as well make the poor boy happy while he had a chance? What if everyone else thought that?

This was it, the rest of Kurt's sane life. Kurt Hummel was paranoid.

* * *

My Health teacher would be so proud of me right now. We're learning about decisions. I think I've effectively listed every possible thing that could go wrong in Kurt's life. Ever.

Sorry it's short- well, not really short, but it does of a significant absence of plot. Or Blaine. Blaine hasn't physically been in the last three chapters... I should fix that. Maybe he'll be in the next one... if Kurt goes on his date! Wahaha!

**Reviews **make me smile!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, Madonna, Diet Coke, Nestea. Or Twilight.

Oh yes- this is you dinner date you've been waiting for- and yes, there IS a Twilight reference. (I'm sort of a neutral Twilight fan so it's not all hidden and smart but it's not exactly insulting it either.)

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He looked like a model strait out of an Old Navy commercial. He was in a rather tight fitted, baby blue, cotton v-neck sweater and dark blue jeans that, curse the Gods, where not nearly as skinny as Kurt's. His hair was slicked back, and Kurt was a little disappointed. For a second, he thought Blaine might relax about his hair and let Kurt admire the rumored curls Kurt almost saw behind sudsy conditioner.

Kurt had done it. He'd made it out of his household. The first step to victory. Now for the harder part. Getting out of the car.

Kurt watched Blaine lean against the wall of the building, hands in pockets from the comfort of his tinted windows. His hand was glued to the handle to the door. But it wouldn't move. He couldn't open it. In fact, he almost wanted too. What would Blaine think if he was late?

He squeezed his hand painfully tight on the door to remind himself to shut up. He wasn't doing this again.

It took a matter of minutes and ear-splitting loud Madonna music before Kurt pulled him self together. No more procrastinating. He could do this. He needed to do this. Just yesterday he had actually wanted to do this, and deep down, he still did.

He'd done it. He'd opened the door, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and slowly, very slowly, left his car.

He had no choice now but to walk. Blaine could see him now. Even if Blaine hadn't found him, Kurt was still on the potential finding grounds in the cramped parking lot. Kurt watched his shoes hit the pavement as he walked over to Blaine. He would of put his hands in his pockets instead of awkwardly falling by his sides, but his jeans had so little fabric Kurt doubted there was room in his pockets for his hands.

Blaine smiled when he finally spotted Kurt walking towards him. "Hey," he said when Kurt had reached hearing distance. He made the 'y' longer and higher then needed.

Kurt pursed his lips, "Uh, hey Blaine." Kurt mumbled. He almost had to hold his head up with his hands so he wouldn't look back to his shoes. How was Blaine so calm? So relaxed? Did he practice in front of his mirror, like Kurt had (with not too much success.) Why had Blaine said he was was bad at romance? He was great at this, with his head up high and his inner confidence beaming.

"Your car was in the parking lot for an awfully long time," Blaine said, smiling.

"Uh, uh, I, uh, lost my phone?" Kurt's words overlapped each other and came out too fast. It sounded like a question, too. It kind of was, not that it was supposed to sound that way.

"Huh. Cool." Blaine said, gesturing for Kurt to follow him as he walked into the restaurant. He smiled. "I think I found it."

Kurt was too confused, "Huh? What? How?"

"It's in your pocket!" Blaine laughed, completely oblivious as to how Kurt had just made that up as an excuse.

Kurt smiled all too nervously for Blaine to recognize it as real, "Oh, huh, that explains it."

They walked into the restaurant. Blaine opened the door wide open and gestured for Kurt to go first, just like a real gentleman. Kurt was torn between whether he should giggle like the madly in love boy he was or suck his chest in and parade himself through the door. He didn't have time to stand there like an idiot and decide, so he just walked in the door, expressionless and thanked Blaine.

Once inside the restaurant loud with scattered voices, a waitress who probably wished her break was coming soon greeted them with an ever dull, "Hello, how can I help you this evening?"

"Table for two," Blaine said. His smile had been plastered on his face sense he first saw Kurt. Kurt was frustrated with himself- he should be the one giddy with excitement and the huge smile on his face. How did Blaine not let the nervousness get to him? Maybe he just didn't have any. But Kurt doubted it was possible to go on a first date without at least even just a little bit of nervousness.

The woman grabbed to menus of her little table and said (almost moaned?) "Follow me,"

They did so. As they walked through the crowded restaurant, Blaine did the unthinkable.

He grabbed Kurt's hand.

Oh, Kurt hadn't even had time to worry about this!

Kurt should of been elated, he really should have. He was being so stupid, so out of character. Kurt should have been able to jump on a table and pronounce his love for Blaine to the world. But it was almost like this wasn't Kurt. It was Nervous Kurt. The normal Kurt would of been able to come up with some smart name for Nervous Kurt, but the only thing that came to mind was something stupid like 'Nert.'

What if someone started staring and Blaine let go? Or someone started staring and Blaine _didn't _let go? Either way, Nert knew he would die. He would die.

"Kurt, calm down," Blaine whispered into his ear. Kurt would of been swooning because Blaine's lips where that close to his face. But this was Nert.

This was terrible. Blaine could tell he was nervous. Were his palms sweating? Oh, that would be so disgusting and Nert didn't want poor Blaine to think he had to keep holding his hand. What if he did keep holding his hand? Oh, he'd probably never do it again! _Nert, panicking like this isn't doing anything for you but raising your heartbeat. _

Or what if Blaine was hearing his freakish heartbeat in this loud and crowded restaurant? If it was that loud Nert was probably going to faint. What would Blaine think if Nert fainted on their first date? Would he think Nert was so bored and having such a bad time he just fainted? Was that possible?

_Breathe in... breathe out... breathe in... _He couldn't do it. His breath was going a hundred miles a minute. Or was it possible for breath to move that fast? Probably not.

Oh no- what if Blaine was some kind mind reader? Like in Twilight? In a month from now would they be playing vampire baseball in a thunderstorm? That wasn't very romantic. He'd rather be kissing in the rain. No sports and no torrential rain. Just a light, but soaking mist and kissing, but with raincoats too that Blaine could put on Kurt's back. That would be so romantic. Just no vampire baseball. None.

"Kurt, really, don't worry, relax." Blaine whispered, _squeezing his hand. _

Kurt couldn't help it. That was so cute... squeezing his hand to comfort him... Kurt had done it. With his daydreaming about kissing in the rain, he'd successfully banished Nert from his conscious, at least for now.

After walking for what seemed like forever but Blaine had probably thought was merely thirty seconds, the waitress gestured to an empty table in the back and informed them their server would be there soon. Kurt slid into the booth and Blaine sat across from him.

Kurt wondered if the waitress led them to the near-empty back of the restaurant on purpose. Did that mean she was-

Kurt pinched the skin on his wrist. _Hard. _

A table away form them there was an old elderly (strait) couple with a hyper little ten year old, probably a grandchild.

Blaine was staring at Kurt, smiling, "So," Blaine said, persistent to avoid the awkward silence route, "What's up?"

Kurt was ever tempter to say 'the sky.' But something told him he wasn't supposed to do that on the first date.

Why was this such a hard question? "Nothing..." Kurt mumbled, eyes glued to the menu he wasn't even reading.

"Come on, something moderately interesting must be going on in your life right now."

Moderately interesting? That was quite a demand.

"Well, the War-"

"No Warblers. I'm there everyday. I know what happens." Blaine interrupted.

Kurt thought hard. Probably harder then necessary, but he was lost. The only thing other then the Warblers that was interesting was Blaine. In fact, his entire world was revolving around Blaine right now. "Finn and I are fighting."

"Really? Why?" All of the sudden, Kurt regretted it. What was he supposed to say? Oh, he heard me talking on the phone with my best friend about how hot you where and told on me? Sadly, despite how wrong it sounded, Kurt technically was with another boy, in the shower. Kurt didn't feel it needed to bring that up.

"I took his truck yesterday to get to your house,"

"Oh, cool," Blaine mentally slapped himself. That's not cool! Blaine had promised himself he would stay cool and collected for the next two hours before he left his house. If this date even lasted two hours.

The waiter who had just showed up saved them from the pending silence. "Hello, my name is Zach, I'll be your server today." He said before dropping a plate of burnt-on-the-edges bread sticks on to the table. They smelled strongly of garlic, and it almost covered up Blaine's minty-fresh scent. "Our special today is clam chowder with clams imported from Maine. Can I get you something to drink to start?"

Kurt nearly said 'medium drip' before catching himself. "I'll have a Diet Coke."

The waiter scribbled it down. Blaine followed with lemon Nestea. Kurt found this extremely interesting. Very Blaine-like.

When the server left, Kurt grabbed a bread stick, turning it around in his hand, looking revolted. "This looks like my dad's cooking."

Blaine rocked this crooked smile. You could just see his pearly teeth and his eyes lit up. "Once you scrape off a couple layers of garlic it taste fine, usually."

Kurt laughed, a sort of bad, halfhearted laugh, seeing as how this bread stick was a thing of nightmares. Garlic breath. Fat. He nearly shuddered. All Kurt hoped that Blaine wasn't expecting him to eat it. "I don't think I'm ready to risk a heart disease for a bread stick."

Blaine grabbed one out of the basket and took a bite. "It taste like... ramen noodles. Don't worry about it."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, "Or should I be concerned my bread taste like noodles?"

Blaine laughed, but his mouth was full of chewed up bread that didn't need to be sprayed on Kurt's face, so it was more of a head-bop and snort.

"Cute," Kurt said sarcastically, smiling, dropping his bread stick back in the basket.

In a few seconds after Blaine had manged to uncomfortably swallow a clump of dry bread, he laughed, "I can't feel my teeth beneath this garlic."

Kurt smiled at Blaine's disgusted face, "Wow. These bread sticks must be amazing."

"These are terrible," Blaine chuckled. He puckered his lips and squeezed his eyes shut, and Kurt fell apart at that face. "The after taste is worse. It's like I just bit into a garlic." He complained, sticking his tongue out.

"Will you make it?" Kurt said through laughs at that ridiculous face he'd just seen on the prim and proper's Blaine Anderson. Kurt was laughing hideously loud. He knew people would start staring soon but he didn't care.

"I'm not exactly sure. Maybe if you eat one?" Blaine whimpered, like it would all be okay if he could laugh at Kurt's pain like Kurt was laughing at his.

"Nice try. Never going to happen," Kurt smiled. He completely forgot he was supposed to be nervous.

"Please?" Blaine pleaded, making the famous puppy dog face.

"Never! Ever! Nice try!" Kurt shouted at him. They where attracting quite a bit of attention during there laughing fit by the seven year old in the booth a couple booths down, who was standing up on the booth, facing them.

The waiter showed up with there drinks. The second the guy placed a can of ice tea on the table, Blaine was quick to chug the entire thing, disgusted look still plastered on his face, and Kurt sat there with his head thrown back in hysterics. The waiter was extremely confused.

Kurt wondered what he had worried about in the first place. This was perfect.

* * *

I'm going to have to split the date into two parts because otherwise it would be _long, _or at least long compared to my other chapters. I'm trying to be consistent within a 1,000-2,500 words per chapter, because when I'm not into it, it's going to be short. When I'm into it, long. Oh well.

So the end of this chapter is based completely off Finn saying in 'Furt' "For a place called Breadsticks, these suck." I always wondered why they sucked... oh well, I guess I just found out. (Or made it up...) And another thing- at least one person is going to realize that Maine is a zillion miles away from Ohio. I live in Maine. _(NO, Maine is NOT in Canada.) _We basically live on (as in our economy. I hate seafood) our seafood and... well... we are Vacation land. Or at least that's what our license plates say. So Ohio is getting Maine clams. I'm sure California is too. (Anyone ever had Maine lobster for a million dollars? Here we get it for 2.50$ at a gas station.)

If you don't live in America, your probably very confused about what I'm saying. Oh well.

But yes. And remember to **review. **They make my day.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee or Chef Boyardee. (Rhyming only half intentional.) Nor do I own Blue's Clues.

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"The only time I ever had ravioli was out of a Chef Boyardee can." Blaine said, poking at his steak with his fork, watching Kurt do the same with his ravioli.

"It's really good. I used to make it for my dad before Carole did the cooking. Granted, we still get take out most of the time, and, no offense to Carole, all she ever makes is badly prepared stir fry and pasta shells. I think we have a video of me from when I was three, I was screaming because my mom wouldn't make me ravioli. She used to make it every night." Kurt started smiling, "She wouldn't make it because I'd already had leftover ravioli for lunch. I think she would of, but my dad was worried I wasn't getting enough protein. My father had taped it so I could watch it when I was older and realize how much of a crazy kid I was. It was ten minutes of me screaming at the top of my lungs and throwing ripped up lettuce around because my mom had attempted to make me eat vegetables. I was losing most of my teeth, and I kept yelling ravioli, so it sounded like 'waviola.'" Kurt looked down at the ravioli, beaming.

Blaine knew Kurt's mom had died when he was six. Kurt never really talked about her, so Blaine almost felt like by Kurt telling him this, Blaine was being trusted. Welcomed into the amazing world of Kurt Hummel.

Blaine smiled at him, "That's too cute."

"I remember when I was six, right before she died, we went to a big, fancy restaurant for her birthday. She'd gotten mushroom ravioli, and I demanded I had some too. So she got me an order of the ravioli, it had to be the mushrooms because they didn't have meat ravioli, and some chicken fingers because she didn't think I'd like it. So when I got it, my dad ended up eating the chicken fingers because I ate the mushroom ravioli. But twenty minutes later, I was vomiting all over my mom's expensive black dress because I ended up allergic to mushrooms. I'd heard my dad complaining about how expensive the dress was and how she shouldn't be risking me vomiting over it again, but even though it was completely revolting, the kept me in her arms until we got home. And later, when I couldn't sleep, she ended up leaving the dress to stain and went downstairs to watch Blue's Clues with me all night on her birthday. I must of been throwing up all night, but she just sat there, all night, watching Blue's Clues and running her hand through my hair while I vomited in a trash can. It was terrible. Then, the next morning, without any sleep, she drove me to the hospital and we stayed there until that night so I could get tested for allergies." Kurt reminisced, overwhelmed with nostalgia.

Blaine wanted to say something about his mom, but he couldn't think of anything. He loved his mom, really, but he didn't have any of those memories. The great things about his mom were that she wasn't completely opposed to the idea of being gay like his father was, and she paid the tuition so he could get into Dalton and get rid of all those bullies. But other then those two things that Kurt's mom probably would of done in a heartbeat, he didn't have any memories like Kurt did. Though, he went to Broadway with his mom on his sixteenth birthday, which he appreciated to the moon and back, but she just kind of sat next to him in the theater with a bored look on her face.

"That's amazing," Blaine said. He didn't want to spoil the moment with his mom.

Kurt sighed, looking down at his ravioli, "A couple months later she died in a car crash. I was in the car with her, and my dad was, too. My dad walked away this a broken nose and I broke my arm in three different places. But my mom was sitting in the back with me. I don't remember it too much, but the threw herself in front of to I would get hit. I did get hit, but she'd pretty much taken most of it. My dad doesn't talk about it much so I don't know what happened to her in medical terms, but something got smashed and she died right there, because of me. I guess I understand now that she did it because if I died, she wouldn't of been able to live with herself, and I was too young to really understand what she'd done for me at the time." Kurt took a long, deep breath. "I think if she was here right now, she'd already have me on Broadway." Kurt smiled again, "I'd be in all those musicals because she told the directors if they didn't hire me she'd ruin the show. She'd of done anything for me. She would of gone to my school herself and given Karofsky what he deserved."

Blaine really didn't know what to say. Kurt was smiling, but he could see tears welling up in his eyes. It all so sweet, but sad, too.

Blaine reached for Kurt's hand that was lying on the table and squeezed it, giving Kurt a little sad smile, "Your mom sounds amazing. I can see why you miss her."

Kurt and Blaine sat there for a couple of minutes, holding hands, staring into each others eyes. Tears streamed down Kurt's face, and he didn't even care this was probably ruining his makeup.

Then a loud voice interrupted there trance in each others eyes. "Excuse me, homos,"

A tall boy who looked extremely intimidating threw his fists of the table to get there attention. Kurt looked at him, eyes wide with fear.

"See that girl over there," He shouted, pointing to a table a couple feet away with a girl in short skirt and spaghetti straps. "That's my girlfriend. She doesn't like her view to be of freaking fags like yourself. So she requests you get your faggy asses out of here of else I might have to do something about it."

Blaine reached into his pocket, slapping two twenty dollar bills on the counter. "Come on, Kurt, let's go." Blaine slid out of the booth, grabbing Kurt's shoulder. "I don't want to be around these jerks anyway."

The guy pushed Blaine to the ground, "What did you call me?" He shouted, and a couple people started looking. "Nothing, Kurt, let's go," Blaine said, pushing himself off the ground.

Kurt was confused. Slowly, he got up and walked out. By the time he'd gotten up, Blaine had already ran out.

"I said, get out, fag." He said to Kurt. Kurt walked away, slowly, and as he turned the corner he saw the guy pocket the forty dollars and walk back to his girlfriend.

Kurt was too distressed to turn back and put more money on the table or tell the guy to back off. Instead, he ran out into the cold and yelled, "What the hell was that, Blaine? Whatever happened to courage?"

Blaine was staring at the pavement, his face screwed up. "I''m sorry, Kurt. I feel like an idiot. I wanted too, but I couldn't. He was bigger then me." Blaine knew that the fact he was bigger then himself was only a tiny fraction of the problem.

Kurt got it. He understood it perfectly. He just thought Blaine was better then that, invincible and he didn't expect to see him run out like that, just give up. "Yeah. I get it."

Blaine shook his head, and brushed a tear away with his wrist. "I'm so sorry. I have to go home. I'll call you tomorrow."

Kurt stood still, watching Blaine run to his car. He swallowed the hysterics coming up his throat and wiped his tears away with his sleeve.

He'd thought this night was going perfectly. But nothing last forever, right?

* * *

**Reviews **appreciated! Thanks to **Secrets of the Fall **and her amazing reviews. She would be the reason this chapter didn't wait until next week and I stayed up late writing this! All your other reviews have been amazing, too. **I'd always love more. ;) **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee or FedEx. I think I have a stepsister who at least to used to work at FedEx, but no one that I know owns it.

So this chapter is kind of epically epic and I maybe lied about this being humor story because even though I attempted to slip two jokes in here, it's really serious. If your one of those people like me who can read and listen to music, I recommend opening another tab and listing to Candles (Glee Version, duh) on YouTube by the time you reach "Nah, it's Blaine." It fits the mood perfectly, it's in the next episode, and not to mention its a beautiful song that made me cry the first time I heard it.

* * *

Blaine knew he shouldn't be doing this.

He ringed the doorbell and heard it echo inside the house. With Blaine's luck, he had no doubt anyone but Kurt would answer. What if Kurt had told his father about last night and he answered? He'd probably give Blaine that 'You better treat my son with respect' speech.

A woman, a red-headed older woman in sweatpants, who Blaine had most likely rudely ruined her Saturday, answered the door. She was probably thinking, _oh, he's not the FedEx guy, is he? _

"Hello, uh, is Kurt here?" Blaine said, trying to stand as tall as possible. This was probably his step mom. He figured if this relationship lasted longer then a couple weeks, he'd be making a formal presentation of himself. Mine as well make a good first impression now.

"Yes, he's downstairs in his room. Can I ask who you are?" She said. She seemed like she'd just been waken up, despite it was at least eleven in the afternoon, what with her eyes squinting from the light outside and her hair a complete mess.

"I'm Blaine. Kurt's a good friend of mine. You must be his step mom?" Blaine said, halfhearted smile on his face. He really just wanted to talk to Kurt.

"That would be me. Kurt is down in his room. You can go ahead down there. Keep the door open, please." She said, directing him to the stairs going down. The second Blaine started making his way down and she couldn't see him anymore, he cringed.

_Keep the door open?_

Kurt must of told them something, and whatever it was didn't sound to impressive. The last time he'd heard that was when he was thirteen going to a girls house. She ended up screaming at her parents for embarrassing her and he just kind of stood in the corner, trying to figure out what they where implying. Sure, a couple months later she figured out he was gay and he really never spoke to her again, but that one thing about her would never leave until he was thirty and hopefully closed one or two doors.

"Dad, is that you?" Kurt yelled to the sound of footsteps coming down his stairs.

"Nah, it's Blaine." Blaine yelled back as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Kurt spun around in his black office chair, slamming a laptop shut, "You could have called! I thought the doorbell upstairs was the FedEx guy!"

Blaine shoved his hands in his pockets, sitting down on the bed with sheets thrown on the floor, hoping Kurt wouldn't mind. "Sorry, I just, well... This was important. I wanted to tell you, like, not through a phone."

Kurt sat with his legs folded on the huge chair, biting a lip. "Yeah. Okay." Kurt was ninety-five percent sure this was about last night. Kurt hated confrontation. Maybe it would have been better if Blaine had just called him. He couldn't mysteriously lose connection if things started getting to awkward when Blaine was two feet in front of him.

Blaine unconsciously pulled a hand out from his pocket and started tearing at the bottom of his tee-shirt out of nervous habit. "Last night, you know, I was kind of a jerk, and I just kind of walked away from that guy when he was being a total asshole to us, and I'm really sorry."

Kurt nodded, "I understand. It's not your job to protect me Blaine, I just walked out, too."

"But Kurt, I'm always telling you, oh, have courage, and you can do this, and blah, blah, blah, and you said your always looking up to me because I'm so proud of who I am, and, yeah. Kurt, I'm afraid I'm a hypocrite and not proud of the first thing about me." Blaine admitted. Kurt just nodded, letting Blaine continue.

"Kurt, I know, I know you understand what it's... like to be gay, and you know how cruel people are. I can't stand them. Those kids at my old school I just barely told you about, they called me all these damn names, and I know you know exactly what it feels like to be called that stuff. It's like, like, it's wrong to be who I am and I'm not going to ever be anything or ever find anybody, and, and, you know?" Blaine said, and he started stifling tears. Kurt just stared at him.

"My mom sent me to Dalton a couple years ago because I was basically clinically depressed. I know-" Blaine took a deep breath, trying to fight back tears, "I know I sound like such an idiot, but I still take meds in the morning. I wasn't really suicide depressed, I mean I thought about it, but I didn't do anything about it. I just, _all the time, _I felt so, so, _worthless _all the time, you know?"

Blaine was officially crying know, and Kurt could tell he was fighting back hysterics. Kurt wanted to get closer, do something like pat his back and comfort him, but he couldn't. He was so shocked by this other side of Blaine he'd never seen before.

"And that, that _disgusting _word, _fag, _it just makes me physically sick to my stomach, and, and last night, when that, that damn boy said it and ruined our freaking date, I just exploded, and I ended up staying up til, like, midnight, freaking out and crying like the idiot I am, and, and, well, yeah. I just, like, died, you know, in a hypothetical sense?"

Kurt stayed nodding, watching Blaine wipe tears from his eyes, "I'm sorry for dumping all this on you, you probably think I'm crazy now."

Kurt stayed staring, expressionless, standing up from his chair, "I don't think your crazy Blaine,"

With those six words, each meaning so much, Blaine stood up and threw himself into Kurt, sobbing into his shirt. Kurt rubbed his back, and laid his chin on Blaine's shoulder. They must of stayed that way forever.

And when Burt stood at the top of the stairs, staring at them, catching them at that exact moment, neither of them even noticed. Burt was too mesmerized by the beautiful moment to ruin it. For once, he got it.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with the wonderful Kurt Hummel.

* * *

So, **reviews**? One, thank you, vfthp for pointing out I failed at spelling the first few chapters. I went back and fixed it. See, I'm not just lazy, I did use spell check, but I may or may not of been so excited to post it I forgot to save. And thank you everyone else for your other fantastical reviews in which I do not object to more.

Also, so I sort of made Blaine depressed in this chapter. This isn't what the entire story revolves around or whatever, and in fact it does revolve around puppy love even if I hadn't gotten to that yet (I know the plot in my head! Stuff will happen)! I was just trying to make this kind of more like real life and less like, _oh, well, despite Blaine being called a fag every day of his life, he never, ever got the slightest bit depressed. _Of course, this doesn't mean Kurt is going to fall into a depression or whatever, I just almost see Kurt as a stronger and more resilient character then Blaine, maybe just because we don't know to much about Blaine in the show other then he went to an expensive private school to get rid of stupid ignorant bullies.

The last sentence of this story is supposed to keep you thinking for a couple minutes. Maybe I failed at my meaningless last sentence or maybe you where all like: :O "Wow that's deep!"

Something tells me it's the first one.

So yeah! **Review!**


	10. Chapter 10

Okay... there are a lot in this one... **Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, Skittles, Lays, Call of Duty, All American Rejects, Super Mario Galaxy, McDonald's, Daniel Radcliffe, or Kim Possible. But if I did, I'd be a very, very wealthy person.

* * *

It was then, that occurred to Blaine when he needed a female friend.

He learned, at that moment, that strait boys where not very good at talking to gay boys about relationships. He really should of known.

It wasn't that bad- at first anyway. But that was before Blaine brought this entire thing up. Blaine was lounging on David's ratty couch, throwing Skittles in the air and trying to catch them with his mouth. David and Wes sat on the end of David's bed with a spilled tub of Lays, playing Call of Duty on a TV screen smaller then the PlayStation. It was a wonder they where able to sit two feet away from it and still know what they where doing on screen.

Blaine didn't necessarily disapprove of blowing the heads of computerized zombies (or whatever they where, Blaine wasn't paying much attention) in his friend's basement. In fact, as long as they weren't laughing at his terrible gaming skills and they had supplied him with a decent amount of Skittles, he actually enjoyed watching Wes and David scream back and forth at each other, disagreeing over which was was which on the controller. He often found himself included in their obnoxious conversations about pop stars, but he figured it was for the best. They didn't want to hear about how hot he thought the lead singer of the All American Rejects was, anyway.

Video games with obnoxious friends probably wasn't first on his list of 'Things I Want To Do Before I Die' list, but that didn't mean your very stereotypical gay things where on that list. No shopping malls or glitter or unicorns or whatever the movies about gay people say they think about. Though, maybe he _did _have an ambition to star in a Broadway musical, but mostly every kid in the Warblers wanted that, even the strait ones.

Blaine wasn't your stereotypical gay boy, like Kurt was. But he was by no means your stereotype teenage strait boy, either. Possibly because one out of every million people actually follow a stereotype. He could stand video games, even if he'd always preferred Super Mario Galaxy to anything else due to the freakishly awesome game design. Though, he was never a perverted freak for girls, but that may be the fault of being gay and all. He liked greasy food, McDonald's, and candy just as much, maybe more, then any teenage boy from a movie did, and that was very possibly one of the biggest stereotypes out there for boys, aside from motorcycles (which Blaine had hated ever from the moment his father introduced to him- for his father trying to turn him strait more then plain disinterest) and girls, and Blaine still wasn't obsessed with girls, still. Blaine wasn't like Kurt and his gay stereotypes: he wasn't all fashion crazy like he was. Sure, he didn't go around in baggy jeans and a baggy tee shirt with a logo on it, but that was a huge stereotype and mostly due to laziness. On a causal day with out a uniform, he'd wear something simple, but still nice. Maybe a tight fitted tee shirt and tan jeans, but, even though Blaine had no right to steal it from Kurt, he kind of had a thing for scarves, too. Big ones, woolly or handmade where the best, like the ones in the Harry Potter movies. Blaine had always, ever sense he watched the first movie, loved those, and had thought they made Daniel Radcliffe _very _attractive. That was his dirty secret, along with his collection of hair gel in the back of the refrigerator next to the old stuff nobody touched or bothered to move. Couldn't have anyone taking his extras.

That simplified: Blaine was gay. He was also a hormonal teenage boy. But he wasn't a stereotype, he was Blaine Anderson, that boy who really hated labels.

David was your basic boy stereotype, just less football teams and more Glee, and but with the same loud and angry demeanor. Wes on the other hand was more of a private school stereotype, all prim and proper and sometimes a little bossy and selfish. Though, after Blaine's rant in his head over stereotypes, David and Wes where very, very bad examples. Kurt would be too.

Blaine watched David finish his victory dance in which he stood up on the bed (his head almost touching the ceiling) and waved the remote control around, singing a little made up chant of "Oh, yeah, beat that! I wanna see you beat that!" to Wes. Sometimes Blaine swore he was a six year old boy trapped in a seventeen year old's body.

"Hey, guys, can I talk to you about something?" Blaine said, sitting back up on the tiny couch. Blaine was using his 'serious voice,' or so David called it. He really only used it when it was a boy, the Warblers, or something like a death or a fatal injury.

"Yes, Blaine, lets hear what you have to say," David announced, plopping back down the bed.

Wes started swaying back and forth, singing, "Say what you need to say, say what you need to say,"

Blaine raised an eyebrow at him. He shut up.

"I think I'm in love with Kurt." He said. It was the complete effect he was going for. Dramatic.

Because David was David and didn't have the first clue about what 'important' meant, he made a loud, fake gasping noise, putting his hand in front of his mouth and opening his eyes wide.

"Dude, shut up, I mean it." Blaine said. He'd always had this terrible habit of saying 'dude.' He hated it, it made him sound like a surfer.

That was another stereotype, was it not? Blaine wasn't good at this entire 'making-a-point-thing.'

"Okay, so what's the sitch? Do you need, like, advice or something?" Wes asked.

"Come on, man, they stopped saying 'sitch' when Kim Possible was canceled." David rolled his eyes.

"Sorr-ey." Wes said, crossing his arms, exaggerating it.

Blaine figured it was his turn to say something. "I may or may not of fallen into tears in front of him and ended up with my face in his chest, bawling. He probably thinks I'm a wuss. Plus, I have absolutely no clue whether he thinks the same way about me or not."

Wes looked a little shocked, thinking, _bawling? _

David leaned over and whispered something into Wes's ear. Wes just looked at him like he was a little crazy when he leaned back with a mischievous smile oh his face.

"David!" Blaine snapped, mentally scolding himself for sound a little like his mom, "I'm right here! I can _see _you whisper that to him! Wes, what did he say?"

"He said, I quote, the boy is in mad puppy love, unquote." Wes said, and David glared at him, lips puckered and arms crossed around his chest like a mad three year old.

"I am freaking not! I have no idea why your so _obsessed _with that!" Blaine yelled at him, sitting up a little straighter in order to look more intimidating.

"Actually, that's two words." David said, smiling like an innocent little boy with a lollipop and big blue eyes.

Blaine ran his hand through his hair, distressed, and like always, his hand came back sticky and wet. He had an unhealthily strong temptation to run his hand over David's shirt and get it all over him while sticking his tongue out that was so hard to resist he had to grab his wrist with his other hand. Oh, but the look on David's face would have been priceless.

Yes, even the ever dapper Blaine Anderson thought about these things.

"Uh, get him some flowers and chocolate, take him out on a date with some bad chick flick, and confess your love to him on the outside while he's crying over the sappy lines. That's what I did with Stephanie and Laura." Wes suggested.

"But didn't Stephanie dump you a month later and Laura told you to 'f' off?" David pointed out. No one spoke to him. Wes and Blaine where just kind of ignoring him now. It was for the best.

"Well, I don't know, Kurt isn't a girl." Blaine shrugged. "And, well, uh, no offense, your method doesn't sound very effective."

"Kurt might as well be a girl. He acts like one, right?" Wes said, with no intentional hurt in his voice.

Blaine bit his lip, "That's not really how it works. I mean, he probably has the same interests as a lot of girls, but he's still a guy behind all those sequins."

David yelled loud enough that neither of them could pretend not to hear him. "That's enough. This is getting awkward. Blaine, you and your boyfriend are making me uncomfortable."

Wes admitted (in his head, only) that it was getting awkward for him too. He just didn't get it.

Blaine was already kind of pissed at David, so the words just slipped out, "What? So your a homophobe now?" Blaine practically spat.

"No, it's just really weird hearing all this, 'I'm totally in love with Kurt but even though he acts like a girl I'm going to make a huge point about how much of a guy he is and don't even pretend he is a girl.' It's weird." David said. That's all- he just said it. David was bad with expression.

Blaine tried to hide how offended he was by this, how bad it made him want to throw himself in a corner and cry. Instead he just made it seem like rage. That was much, much more intimidating. "Don't you get it? I _like _boys. I _don't _like girls, at least in that way. I don't like Kurt because he's a just like a girl. I like him for all that other stuff which I'm not going to bother trying to explain to you. I think you _are_ a homophobe."

"Am not!" David yelled, standing up. Blaine followed, standing up so he was facing him. David was a good inch taller then him, so that couldn't of made Blaine very frighting. Wes leaned back. He could feel the threat of a fist fight in the atmosphere.

"Why am I friends with a homophobe?" Blaine asked, glaring at him like death.

"Maybe you aren't," David hissed, leaning in a little closer.

"I don't think I-"

"Guys!" Wes yelled, interrupting Blaine.

And just like that, David yelled, "Get out out my house, faggot!"

Blaine swallowed. That hurt so much, it was almost hard to swallow. He felt the tears he'd been holding back in his eyes start to fall.

So Blaine did so, walking up the stairs, not even bothering to slam the door. When he got outside, looking at Wes's car, the car he'd just come in to get here, he sighed a sigh and continued walking the ten miles it would take to get home.

He almost wished it was raining. Then the people on the street wouldn't notice his tears.

* * *

Okay, I have to say this to avoid being shunned by my best friend: **kinda-emo-kid **is awesome. Deal with it.

But aside from that, thank you **Hattersglasschild **and **nerdydorko **and (once again) **Secrets of the Fall **for your wonderful reviews on each chapter.

You make me smile!

And **firespark124 - **I may or may not of run around my house screaming "Oh my God- the daughter of the guy who knew the Justin Bieber for two-year-olds in 2002 likes my story! Ahh!"

(Let's just say my mom was _very _impressed with me.)

I can never, ever get enough **reviews**! I you ever, ever dislike something I do in a chapter, let me know so I can fix it or not do it next time I write, because, hey, I might turn out to be the next J. K. Rowling (or at least I hope) in ten years, and you get to say you totally helped me improve my writing career!

Plus if you like something, even if I do end up a self-absorbed mess, I still like to hear it. It's like... Rachel. I can't live without applause. O.o


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee. Or McDonald's, Disney, Coke, or Happy Meals. But I totally wish I did.

Before I start- I watched regional last night. I won't give anything away but... one word- Klaine. Another word- awesome. And also... if by any chance you have it recorded, watch Blaine's face in slow motion during Blackbird. I did. Then I had a crying/giggling fit.

* * *

Something out there, whether supernatural or religious Blaine wasn't sure, was out to get him.

A couple things led him to thinking this. First, in this weekend and this weekend only; he'd fallen to pieces in to his potential boyfriends arms after being bullied for who he was in a crowded and public place. Two, he'd just lost one of his three real friends, three including Kurt who maybe, maybe not was going to count as a friend sometime soon, maybe something more if he was lucky. Three: he very well might as be lost on an crowded interstate. Blaine wasn't even sure if it was _legal _to be walking along an interstate. Four, he'd called his mom six times in the last twenty minutes. He was not only concerned for his mom's well being but the only person he knew left to call was Kurt.

Five, he'd already cried in Kurt's arm once this weekend. He didn't need to do it again and seem like a complete and total wuss.

But he really had no other choice. It wasn't like he could just turn around, go back, and ask Wes for a ride. That wasn't how it worked, seeing as how Wes was probably still at David's. And he couldn't walk along an interstate that seemed to look completely different on foot then in a car. It was already about four. If he got lost and it got dark he'd, no doubt about it, get hit.

So he did it. He called Kurt.

It was terrible.

After two and a half rings, the phone picked up. Blaine had positioned himself as to be leaning on a tree a couple feet or so away from the road.

"Hello?" Someone said. All Blaine knew was that it wasn't Kurt, that voice was pretty husky. He instantly assumed he'd dialed the wrong number before remembering this was his contacts and all he'd done was click on Kurt Hummel. It had always been his number before. Did his number change? Blaine was pretty sure this was Kurt's cell phone, not his house phone, so why would anyone else pick up?

"Uh, hi. Is Kurt there?" Blaine asked. He felt like an idiot. Maybe the connection was bad or Kurt had a cold.

"Uh, I'm sorry, no. He's at the mall with a friend." The voice said.

"Who is this?" Blaine asked, extremely confused.

"His father. Who's under his contacts as the 'greater than' symbol and a three?" Burt asked. What kind of thing was that? Morse code for teenagers?

Blaine gulped. Greater than symbol and a three? It took a minute for him to remember what that meant- he hadn't been on Facebook lately. But under a couple layers of embarrassment, there was a little flattered and giddy Blaine. "Uh, I'm Blaine."

"Why, hello Blaine. So why are you calling my son?" Burt said, perfectly innocent.

This was so awkward. Did everybody's dad do this? Blaine's would never bother... He'd only seen this happen in a movie once. Maybe Burt was just one of those really overprotective dads. The one that would threaten to kill Blaine if he ever broke Kurt's heart. Blaine didn't even have official possession over Kurt's heart yet. They where just dating. Did that make them boyfriends? This was confusing. No wonder he never made it before in all this relationship stuff.

Blaine cringed, "Uh, my friend ditched me and I don't have a car. My mom won't answer and I'm trying to find a ride. Sorry."

"Doesn't sound like much of a friend if they ditched you. I can come pick you up." Burt offered.

Blaine didn't know what to say. Your not supposed to take rides from strangers, right? Well, he had seen Burt once, when he was leaning on Kurt's shoulder, hung over and half asleep, complaining about how Kurt's room smelled like cucumbers, and caught a glimpse of a bloodthirsty Burt who, from what Kurt told him, had thought he'd slept with Kurt at the time. He may of actually drove him home, with Kurt, but he didn't really remember because he'd passed out and woke up a couple hours later with a "killer head ache and a flu," or so his mom thought. It was hard fooling her, telling her the thermometer _must _be broken and she needed a new one. By the time she was back, Blaine had drunken enough almost-boiling water to pass for 102.3 Fahrenheit.

But anyway, what if this was some crazy stalker person who stole Kurt's phone instead of Kurt? Highly improbable, but possible. He was tempted to ask him to prove he was Kurt's father, but that might come off as rude.

"Uh, sure. You don't have too. But that would be cool." Blaine mumbled, barely audible by the sound of cars rushing by.

"Alright. Your on the interstate, right? That's what it sounds like judging from all those cars." Burt said.

"Uh, yeah. You could pick me up at the McDonald's? It's really close to where I am, I could probably just walk there."

"On Washington Avenue?"

"Yup. That one."

"Alright. I'll be there in twenty minutes. Be prepared to give me instructions to your house." Burt said.

"Thank you. Bye."

"Any time. Bye."

Blaine closed the phone and started walking. He almost died.

Every good deed had a catch, right? Nine out of ten do, and Blaine had a good idea of what it is. Hopefully he was wrong.

* * *

It was the bright blue one that caught his eye. Turns out that would Burt's van.

He was sitting on a fence, nibbling on a Happy Meal so no one had a good excuse to kick him out of the parking lot for loitering. Of course, he looked like an idiot with his tiny burger in one hand, Disney toy in the other, sitting on a fence that was ready to collapse under his weight. Sure, he probably could of gotten something a little more manly, like fries or a Coke, but something about those awesome boxes where extremely tempting. Or he could at least sit on a bench. But this fence was so... well, uncomfortable. For some reason, sitting on that bench was like a challenge, so thus, he was probably going to get arrested for breaking this thing. Oh well.

Burt pulled in right in front of him, so either he did recognize him or assumed the kid with the Disney toy was his the one dating his son. Probably the first one, but Blaine wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be the second one.

Blaine recognized the face inside that car from somewhere, so he stood up. The door opened, and the balding man in a baseball hat came out.

"Blaine?" Burt asked.

"That would be me. Thank you for picking me up." Blaine said, smiling politely. He eyes his hamburger nervously.

He just shoved the thing in his mouth.

Burt laughed at Blaine with his cheeks full of hamburger, looking like a squirrel with acorns. Blaine just looked at him, apologetically and nervous. "You know, you can eat in my car, right?" Burt said, in between laughs.

Blaine swallowed, probably not chewing nearly enough. He coughed, "No- no, it's okay, I needed to finish it any way..."

"Alright. Hop in," Burt said, gesturing to the car, still chuckling under his breathe.

Hop in? That sounded like a bad 70's pop song.

But Blaine did as told, and got in to passenger side. He wanted to suggest that he himself drive, but knowing Burt was a mechanic, he didn't want to end up insulting him or something.

Burt sat back down in the car. "It's not much, but the the money I needed to get a Mercedes Benz went in to Kurt's car." Burt said, stroking the soft black seats, finished with juice stains.

Blaine smiled, but he didn't know what to say. He knew a fair amount about cars after his dad insisted he learn, so maybe he could make some smart comment about a Mercedes Benz, but he didn't have it in him. Starting a conversation. He had just met him, and he'd already proved himself worthy of being his sons boyfriend by clutching a Disney toy and chocking on a Happy Meal.

"So, Blaine. I don't want to start out on the wrong foot, but I need to ask you some questions, being Kurt's dad and all. First thing first, what where you doing in my sons bed last week? I'm not making any judgments. I just need to know." Burt said, pulling out of the lot.

Blaine knew it. There's always a catch, and frankly, he absolutely hated it.

Blaine gulped, closing his eyes. "I don't really remember, sir. He drove me here after a party. I was drunk. He didn't know where my house was. He didn't drink anything. I was being an idiot. I apologize for any distress this might have caused.

Burt nodded. "Right or left?"

"Left, then go on the next route."

"Okay. I get it. Why did you drink?" Burt asked.

"I don't know. I'm a teenager. I'm an idiot. I do those things." Blaine sighed. He was such an idiot. He had gotten _drunk. _Somehow Kurt just let that slip by. That was always amazing.

"I see. Also, there's a large confusion in our dysfunctional household. What about this entire shower thing?" Burt said. Blaine thanked God that Burt couldn't take his eyes of the road and look at him. In fifth grade, his health teacher always said to talk to your parents about something embarrassing in the car. Then they can't look at you.

"Uh... shower thing? You mean when I got conditioner in my eyes?" Blaine asked. When he addressed it as 'shower thing,' it sounded pretty bad. Why was Kurt telling his this stuff?

"Yes. That."

"Well, yeah. I got conditioner in my eyes. Kurt came over to help. That's really it." Blaine said, looking at the street signs to make sure they where going in the right direction.

"But... not fully clothed?" Burt muttered, embarrassed himself.

Blaine bit his lip. "I was... wearing pants. I was in the shower, you know? I just... I didn't expect- Well, no, I just, I didn't feel like I needed-"

Burt sighed at his stuttering. "I understand. Just, no sexual stuff, right?"

"Oh, no, oh God no." Blaine clarified, almost acting disgusted.

"Alright. Thank you. One more thing."

"Yes?" Blaine said, wondering what more he had to interrogate him about.

"Yesterday, when you came over, you where crying. Can I ask why?"

Blaine was shocked. "Kurt told you about that?"

"Uh, no. I saw it. But I went back upstairs before I did anything stupid."

Blaine, in his most neutral face, said, "I, uh, well, uh, I-"

"It's fine. You don't have to tell me." Burt said.

Blaine took a deep breath, "No, it's okay, I mean, well, see, we went on a, uh, date, and some guy was being a jerk and ruined it and I wussed out and I was really mad at myself and I had to apologize for not standing up for him and I just kind of fell apart."

Burt swallowed the lump in his throat. The thought of some kid harassing his son on his first date was terrible.

It was silent, for the next ten or so minutes, with only Blaine giving him occasional directions. As he pulled into the driveway, Burt got out too.

Standing there, Burt pulled Blaine into a hug, Blaine's arms awkwardly pinned to his sides. "Respect my boy. He's beautiful. He deserves the best, and that's what he's going to get, understood?"

Burt let go of Blaine, and Blaine looked at his eyes for a minute. They where filled with so much emotion, so much pain. Burt looked like he was ready to cry.

"Understood. I wouldn't dream of giving him anything else."

* * *

I love **reviews! **If I get 36 reviews before the next chapter, I promise, I'll write an all-intense fluff chapter! I promise!

And also, to avoid unnecessary confusion: greater then sign and a three... this will not let me show you. But anyway. It's a heart.

**Review! Please!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee, Disney or Cold Stone Creamery. Or Goodwill. Man, if I owned Goodwill, my mom would be _so _proud.

So I asked to have 36 reviews? I now have 38. You guys are awesome. You have but the slightest clue how awesome it is to wake up to 9 reviews on one chapter. So here's you fluff! I'll warn you, I'm not too good at fluff, but I tried. Tell me how you like it! Please!

* * *

"That shirt is an abomination to human kind," Kurt said, completely innocent, light blue eyes open wide.

Blaine looked down at his shirt, frowning. "Why? I like it."

"It looks like my grandma sew it." Kurt complained, sticking his tongue out. He stared at it like it was really that bad. It looked fine. Absolutely fine. It was_, _maybe, sort-of homemade. He wasn't quite sure by who, but he got it at Goodwill with no tag, so he assumed.

"Maybe your grandma did sow it. I got it at Goodwill."

"_Goodwill? _Blaine, you do not by your clothes at Goodwill, do you? Your kidding?" Kurt shouted, looking scared. Actually scared. Like he was betraying his trust by buying a pre-owned shirt. It really did look fine. It was just a dark green knit sweater. Well, maybe the entire dark green thing didn't work out for him. But it looked completely, one-hundred-percent decent. It wasn't like, vomit colored green, it was more like pine-tree green. It just didn't compliment his skin tone or whatever. That sounded like something Kurt would say- without the whatever, of course.

"Yeah, maybe sometimes. I mean, I wear my uniform everyday. I really only wear street clothes on weekends." Blaine defended himself. He felt like pouting, moaning, _I like this sweater!_

"Blaine, we must do something about this. Something. We cannot just sit back and watch you buy clothes at a secondhand shop." Kurt said, dropping his head in shame with Blaine. Kurt better be being sarcastic. Blaine wasn't a fashionably sensible person to the same extent as Kurt by no means, but that didn't mean he wasn't defensive of his poor, innocent sweater.

"It's a second hand shop that boosts our lingering economy!" Blaine nearly yelled. He _liked _Goodwill! Sure, it was an interest handed down by his frugal mother (the same frugal mother that sent him to one of the most expensive private schools in Ohio? Yeah). But it wasn't like that counted for anything.

The people around them raised eyebrows. Kurt and Blaine stood in line at Cold Stone Creamery. It was almost like their second date, almost. It wasn't really official. Blaine would almost like to think of this as their first date, even though it was their second and an official rulebook somewhere wouldn't even classify it as official. Sure, their first date was perfect, all until that kid showed up. Then it was suddenly terrible. Plus, who wants to tell their kids their parents first date was at some greasy restaurant populated with uninterested employees and jerky homophobes? Exactly. A giggly trip to an ice cream shop sounded much more romantic.

But this time, it was going to be perfect, the _entire _time. He'd promised himself that. Even if for some tragic reason this didn't work out, third times a charm, right?

Blaine liked the idea of ice cream much better then greasy bread sticks. While Breadsticks was the "I'm so dapper you can not stand in my aura of dapperness without being impressed" kind of Blaine that everyone seemed to like, Cold Stone was much more the "I'm secretly a nervous wreck and I act like a goofy five year old when no ones looking" Blaine, which Blaine liked much more. That Blaine was his dirty little secret he was ready to share with Kurt, once and for all. But Cold Stone also had a little dapper touch that made you think of granite fireplaces. It was like Blaine's hair gel. Behind that uniform and massive amounts of hair gel, there was actually a kid with an Afro under there, believe it or not.

"Our economy would be just find with more retail shops." Kurt said, giving him a death glare that said, _you will never be right until I'm proven wrong or the government says otherwise.  
_

"That's what you think." Blaine hissed, mocking Kurt's sarcastic evil tone.

When he reached the counter, he told the woman he'd like a large cookie dough ice cream. Kurt nodded, as though he approved of this choice, and followed with a mint chocolate chip. It was weird how Kurt thought like that, how ice cream was a status symbol. Cookie dough was fun, silly, but it was also pretty plain looking, so it was serious, too. That's how he thought of Blaine. Of course, mint always gave Kurt the impression someone was a little snobby, but he just liked the flavor. Labels where really taking over his life.

"How can you use clothes someone else wore before you? I can just barely wear the clothes I've already worn once." Kurt said while the woman started scooping ice cream into two little paper dishes.

"It's like... a big game of dress up in there. They have everything, from sequins and bell bottoms to hunting gear. I think you should try it." Blaine said, smiling, picturing Kurt and all his glory in sequins and bell bottoms.

The woman put down the two dishes, "That will be 6.50$."

Kurt grabbed the two paper dishes and Blaine handed her a ten dollar bill. She made change and Kurt started to walk off to a table.

Blaine grabbed Kurt by the back of his shirt, "Nice try, but not a chance. We're going to Goodwill and eating this in my car. That is final."

Kurt pouted. He started to protest but Blaine cut him off.

"Your going to love it."

* * *

Kurt Hummel. In a secondhand shop? Nonsense.

Complete nonsense.

Yet, for some strange reason, very possibly because Blaine was standing right next to him, it was too much fun. Taking it all in... it was sort of a slap in the face to finally realize he'd insulted this place and it's wonderful multitude of clothes.

The first five minutes was the hardest- Blaine forcefully dragging Kurt by the cloth on the end of his shirt collar. But he had to give in- it was a new Tommy Hilfiger! He couldn't just stand there while Blaine threatened to rip his brand new jacket in two. Plus, Kurt was still holding a paper cup, half filled with melting ice cream and he didn't was Blaine to pull him down, thus leading to a new green splotch on his jacket. Not that a Tide stick could fix that, but it was sort of a hassle to be doing that every five minutes.

They crashed through the automatic doors, which was fairly hard. Maybe they didn't crash. It was more like a dramatic entrance in which Blaine sort of pulled him through the doorway. They almost _did _crash through the revolving doors, but they opened right in time. It was pretty intense. A couple bystanders probably thought Blaine was a mass murdered who wanted to get his next victim done with already.

It wasn't too impressive when he first got in: in was mostly books, lampshades, and old crack radios and telephones with wires. But the little shelf of jewelry was striking and blindingly sparkly. Kurt, who had his arms crossed with a stubborn pout glued on his face caught sight of it and almost gave in.

_Your in a secondhand shop. Don't even try to pretend like your interested._

But Kurt was interested, almost a little bit interested. _Almost. _

"First impressions?" Blaine asked. They where still standing close enough to the door it kept closing a little bit before opening back up again, like they where confusing it and it couldn't decide whether they where in or out quite yet.

"The wallpaper is extremely tacky. The books look dusty and most of the stuff I'm looking at probably came from Carole's moving boxes." Kurt said, revolted, trying to move his eyes away from the jewelry case until he caught the boxes and boxes of bags, most of them made of leather, and Kurt had a significant liking for leather book bags, for some odd reason.

"The wallpaper isn't that bad. Yellow boats? I mean, the colors a little... sickening... but other then that it's kind of cute! And the books and Carole's knickknacks our not what we're here for. Are you ready?" Blaine said, smiling that really cute crooked, toothy smile, acting like they where preparing for a upside down roller coaster or something.

"Ready for what? Pink old lady sweaters with black silhouettes of cats? I think not." Kurt said. He was starting to give that impression that Blaine had done some terrible offense by bringing him here. But as nervous as he should be because he might disappoint Kurt, he wasn't one bit. He was absolutely positive Kurt was going to love this, whether he liked that fact or not.

"Nope. Clothes." Blaine laughed, grabbing Kurt by his wrist, dragging him to the back of the store. Kurt smiled at the idea of Blaine's hand being that close to his. Sure, they had technically held hands before but Kurt was too worried his hands where sweating to really notice.

As they walked, Blaine smiling like a maniac, he rambled on. It was so weird, Blaine pulling him through the crowded store, woman's tee shirts brushing by them. "I've always loved this place. It's like a treasure hunt. You never know what you'll find. Granted, I'm usually here for the tacky knickknacks that make me laugh, but I've seen the back of this store and I'm fairly positive you'll find this stuff just as good. It really is like dress up."

As they reached the back of the store, Kurt's jaw dropped to the floor. He looked like a little kid on Christmas. A little kid on Christmas who ran downstairs only to find Santa with his feet up, eating cookies and two elves lugging a huge box, two times the size of them, through the door.

Blaine looked at the floor, smiling, whispering, "I told you so."

Kurt didn't even notice. Blaine dropped his wrist, and Kurt walked towards the racks, eyes wider then what was thought humanly possible, looking like he was going to faint at any moment.

"So many... clothes..." Kurt whispered.

Blaine laughed, throwing his head back. "If we didn't have to wear those silly uniforms, I'd be wearing the Goodwill smocks the employees have to wear I love this place so much."

Kurt ran his hand over the clothes, as though if he did that, it would prove everything was real. Like if he did that, it would prove he wasn't dreaming.

Rows and rows of dress up clothes, costumes, clothes from the older decades, or just the crazy kind of clothes Kurt wore everyday when he wasn't trapped in a uniform. The words rang in his head, the same ones Blaine had just said, _dress up clothes. _He was really tempted to play the game he hadn't played sense he was nine with his (female) cousin. Not to mention in that case he ended up in a Disney princess dress a couple size to small and him crying because she forced him into it and he couldn't reach the zipper to take it off so he had to get his dad to take it off. So maybe the game wasn't full of very good memories. Oh well.

But just like that, Kurt Hummel was in a secondhand shop, and that kicker was, he was enjoying it.

Two hours later, one huge plastic bag filled with ridiculous clothes (including those sequin bell bottoms Blaine promised, which he'd mostly bought because you never know when a surprise 70's birthday party planned by oneself turns up), and a Kurt with a completely new opinion of secondhand shops they finished. The only reason they left was because Burt was rapidly increasing Kurt's telephone bill with random texts demanding his approximate location and it was almost closing time. You'd think any place that closed at six couldn't be to great, but that was a myth proved wrong today.

They stood in the parking lot of the place, standing across from each other.

Kurt did that thing where he fluttered his long eyelashes and giggled. It was too cute for words. "You look so cute." Blaine whispered. The words just sort of slipped out, completely unintentional.

And just like that, after a couple seconds of Kurt's beaming smile, he kissed Blaine on the cheek.

"If you think I'm cute, you should look in the mirror some time." Kurt giggled.

* * *

This chapter is for my mom who is a Goodwill obsess.

First of all, if any one is paying close attention, this would be taking place on Monday for common sense and mathematical reasons. Can we pretend they had Monday of from school? Thank you. I wrote this fluff for you, anyway.

Also, I just want to inform the people promising people fluff is _very _effective. Wow. So many reviews!

Sorry if their are any obvious grammatical mistakes. I read it over but I'm practically half asleep.

**Reviews **are so awesome! Even if they won't lead to fluff this time, won't you give me some anyway? It _will _lead to higher quality chapters, that's for sure. And longer. And updated quicker.

You guys are awesome! **Review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee. Or Webster's Dictionary or Stephine Meyer. Or love... I don't think any one owns love, though.

I apologize for the wicked short (yup, I did say wicked, further proving I'm a Mainer,) and plot-deficient chapter. I'm having writer's block _death. _Maybe it's not to wonderful... but.. if any one wants to PM me with uber awesome ideas, I will not object. And if I end up using it, I promise I'll give you credit.

* * *

Is boyfriend a pronoun?

It was a replacement word for a proper noun. That was what a pronoun was. Or was it a just a noun that seemed like it was something else? When he consulted the Internet he got varied answers, and the dictionary, the actual Webster's Dictionary he found deep in the basement, claimed in was a noun. Just a plain old noun. Was boyfriend being downgraded because it was different? It wasn't it, or he, or she, or they, or them, it was boyfriend. If you gave a list of words to a fourth grader and asked them to circle the one that didn't belong, they'd circle boyfriend. Technically it was a pronoun, right? It was just so... much more meaning behind it then it. Sure, it had a ton of meaning. You might call a living creature 'it' when your disgusted. You say it when your either to lazy to repeat the same word over and over, or when you just don't want to say something. Kurt wouldn't want to address a puffy fur coat as a puffy fur coat, he'd call it it, because he didn't want to hear the revolting words spoken aloud.

But boyfriend was so much, so much, packed into one tiny little word. It was, hopefully, filled with love, swooning over the fact you can call a person your boyfriend. Or it can be filled with sadness and regret if your notifying you don't have a boyfriend. You can also be a snotty teenage girl (or boy, of course) and go around calling every boy you'd ever touched your boyfriend, in which case the word is filled with narcissism. The word boyfriend was confusing. It was certainly different. It could mean sexual partner or male friend or huge crush or really anything. It wasn't like it. Boyfriend was big and beautiful. It was so... normal and overused. Maybe boyfriend was classified as a noun for a good reason: no one wanted their boyfriends to be in the same category as _it. _

Was Kurt crazy for wanting Blaine to be his boyfriend, instead of he or it or they? Maybe Blaine was just always be a he for Kurt. They did sort of go on a date, and, if it counted, Kurt pecked him on the cheek. Did that count as a kiss? It was just ones lips coming in contact with a surface. Kurt should be able to kiss the refrigerator door and it would count. But that wouldn't make he and the door in a romantic relationship, would it? Well, of course not. You can't have a romantic relationship with a inanimate object. So screw that analogy. In simpler terms, did Kurt's lips coming in contact with Blaine's skin make them in a romantic relationship, in other words, did that make them boyfriends? They went on a romantic date. Maybe two romantic dates, one being unofficial. What made a date official, anyway? If it ended with a kiss, did that make it enough to be an official romantic date, not a day on a calender or a rather delicious nut?

This was crazy. Kurt really didn't want to crack open the dictionary again. That thing was heavy and he spilled apple juice over it and the pages where sticky now. Focus on just boyfriend. One word at a time.

So was Blaine Kurt's boyfriend? Maybe some fortune teller could answer that. A real, real boyfriend meant love, right? Love. Love. Love.

Kurt had to do it. What was love? He cracked open the dictionary, once again, keeping his apple juice a good foot away from it.

The first thing he learned that was that if one was _at _love, someone was losing terribly at tennis, or, on the bright side, someone was winning. If one was _in _love, they where "inspired by affection." Kurt liked the sound of that. Inspired by affection. It sounded beautiful, even if it was a lot less beautiful then really being in love, and Kurt was fairly sure he was in it.

1: Strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties, ex. maternal _love_ for a child. 2: Attraction based on sexual desire, affection and tenderness felt by lovers. 3: Affection based on admiration, benevolence, or common interests ex. _love_ for his old schoolmates. 4: An assurance of affection, ex. give her my _love._

There where nine other definitions. Love was complicated. Granted, two of those had to do tennis. Two with God. Kurt was atheist, so he didn't feel any need to elaborate. The rest said love was sexual. Kurt didn't like that, at all, but did that mean the dictionary would say Kurt and Blaine where sort of in love. Sure, kissing on the cheek wasn't really sexual, and Kurt couldn't speak for Blaine, but God, that boy was very_, very_ nice looking and the rest from there one can assume. Not that Kurt spend math class drooling over his textbook, staring at Blaine. Or at least always.

Strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties? After looking up kinship, Kurt decided what he felt for Blaine wasn't number one. Two rang in his head for a while. He thought, just maybe, maybe that was a definition he'd consider. But still, he was possibly, maybe a little bit, sort of obsessed with Darren Criss. But that didn't mean if Darren Chris showed up at his door tomorrow with a box of chocolates and roses he'd fall in love with him. He'd just be flattered, giggle, and then most likely realize it was Blaine without hair gel. It was insanely creepy how similar they looked. Blaine always told him he looked like Chris Colfer, but he didn't have the slightest idea who that was nor did he care enough to look him up. But anyway, Kurt saw Blaine for so much more then his amazing figure.

Three was so... friendly. Not love. And finally, four was just a grammar correction of some sort. Maybe the dictionary wasn't the most wonderful resource for his relationship problems.

"Kurt?" Burt asked, opening the bedroom door, "You doing homework?"

Kurt nearly spat his apple juice across the room, slamming the dictionary. He was sitting on the floor with two other empty glasses around him. Did drinking old apple juice count as wine? It did taste a little tangy. Burt probably did think he was drinking, half empty apple juice bottle lying next to him.

"Yes," Kurt said, wiping his chin from the apple juice that started to spill out.

Burt made a sort of disappointed face, mostly confused, "Your not looking up swear words in the dictionary, are you? I caught Finn doing that last week."

"No, no, uh, homework, you know... I was looking up..." Kurt mumbled.

"Looking up...?" Burt asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Words...?" Kurt finished.

"Look, Kurt, just don't swear. I get it, you want to know what it means or whatever, I figured you would of done this in sixth grade if ever. Just don't swear. It sounds stupid." Burt said. But he was almost proud. His son was looking up swears in the dictionary! That was boyish, and intellectual.

"I wasn't looking up-" Kurt protested, but he cut himself off, "Actually, I was, sorry, dad." He couldn't tell his father he was looking up love in the dictionary. Only Stephine Meyer did that. Or did she?

"Alright. Dinner's going to be ready soon, okay? Can I have the dictionary?" Burt asked.

Like a small child, hanging his head in shame, he gave the dictionary to his father and followed him downstairs for yet another night of under cooked pasta.

* * *

Once again, short chapters suck, but please **review**! I'm sorry about not updating a lot or whatever, but once again, writers block is to blame.

So, I have 32 alerters and an average 4 reviews per chapter. I can't promise more fluff at the moment with out making a bunny made of cotton balls. But if you all review (or at least the most of you), I'd smile so hard they'd have to put me in a hospital where I'd have _more _time to write! So please! **Review! All of you! **


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee or Tylenol.

I have defeated the writer's block! Rejoice! This is but a wonderful day for the world! Granted, this chapter is a little on the short side but it had plot! Yay!

I'll stop now so you can read.

* * *

"David announced he's always been a homophobe and he's disgusted by your kind," Wes offered, sitting across from Blaine, fiddling with his fingers.

"My kind?" Blaine whispered, biting his lip, a little too upset to raise an eyebrow at him like he usually would. Was Blaine a certified alien now? Blaine and his kind? That sounded like a science fiction movie, not homosexual people.

"Uh, well, he sort of referred to you and, well, your, uh, _kind, _as 'the gays,' I didn't know which one you'd like to hear better." Wes said. He hated how David had sent him off as his messenger. He made a terrible messenger. He should of just told Blaine that David was gay and had a crush on him. Someone might take that a lot easier. But that might end up in Blaine hitting on David or something, which could probably be classified as much, much worse then the truth when David punched him in the stomach after that.

"Well, I am gay. So I guess I like the second one better. I can pretend like he didn't say it like it was a disgusting word and meant gay as an insult." Blaine sighed. He didn't even cry. It was almost worse, it was like he was used to hearing how no one loved him or whatever. "But why did he always hold it in?"

"I guess he always thought you where a nice guy or something. My understanding is that the day you decided to really express it he decided it was time to get rid of you or whatever." Wes said. He really, really didn't want to be the one announcing this to him.

"You still friends with him?" Blaine asked, his face expressionless.

What was Wes supposed to say? Yes? Wes and David where still friends. They where and probably always would be. Maybe Wes was a little weirded out by Blaine, too, but he didn't feel the need to shout it. David was a little impulsive, so maybe that was a good enough excuse for him. But it really wasn't. That was really just plain mean on David's part. Would Wes still be Blaine's friend? God, he always thought he'd stop worrying about this stuff after the fifth grade when he stole a girls lollipop, and yet, _will he still be my friend_ echoed in his head.

"Uh, sort of." He muttered, examining his shoes.

"It's cool. I get it." Blaine whispered, throwing his book bag over his shoulder, standing up from the coffee shop table he'd almost always sat at Kurt with. "I'll talk to you at school. I've got to go."

Wes gulped, watching Blaine walk out of the shop, his coffee still sitting on the table, completely full.

_Will he still be my friend?__

* * *

_"Mom," Blaine moaned, his eyes damp, opening the door to the house, "I can't go to school today. I'm sick to my stomach."

Blaine's mom, a towel over her black, curly locks and in her black pant suit for work, making herself toast in the kitchen looked at him, "Hun, you made it to that coffee shop fine this morning, you sure?"

Blaine swallowed, breathing out of his mouth to increase the entire sick look. He dropped his bag on the floor. "Mom, yeah, I'm sure. Maybe I ate something."

It was all a lie. Blaine Anderson didn't even eat anything at breakfast this morning and he was fine. At least physically fine.

"Alright, hun. Why don't you take of your uniform and I'll get you some Tylenol. I have to go to work in an hour but if your to sick I can stay home and take care of you." She said, walking over to Blaine. He stood still, panting like it would make him seem worse. But it was a known fact he was a terrible actor.

She put a cold hand on his forehead and he flinched. "Hun, you don't feel warm. But your face is bright red. It looks like you've been crying." She said, suspicious.

"No, I'm just hot. Really hot." Blaine whispered, making his voice crack.

"Okay, hun, sit down," She said, gesturing to a bar stool over the shiny white counter. His mom walked towards the cupboards as Blaine sat down. He started unbuttoning his school jacket and pulling his button up dress shirt of over his shoulders. His mom always hated it when he pulled his button up shirt of over his shoulder. She said it made him look like an idiot. Soon he was only in a baggy undershirt. He kicked of his shoes and his mom walked over with a thermometer. It took almost everything Blaine had not to moan when she walked over with that damn thermometer.

"Open up, hun." She said. Blaine did so, and he felt like crying again. He couldn't go back to school. His mom still had legal power over him for another year, so she called the shots, and if she declared Blaine Anderson was going to school today, Blaine Anderson was going to school.

Blaine pushed the thermometer around in his mouth with his tongue, like if he did that maybe he could find a hot spot in his mouth. She stood in front of him, her hands on her hips, waiting for the thermometer to beep.

After a minute or so, it beeped. Almost like it was announcing Blaine's end.

She pulled it out of his mouth and read it. Blaine really wanted to fall over sobbing. He couldn't go to school. Oh God, he just couldn't, not today. He needed to just take a nap and figure all this crap out.

"Hun, it says 97.9. That's a normal temperature."

Blaine felt that stupid tear roll down his cheek. He knew his mom knew he wasn't sick. He wiped it with his arm, taking a deep breath that sounded like a hiss from trying not to cry. Halfway through the breath, it was almost like he broke and he started sobbing. He put his hands over his face, ashamed.

"Oh, honey, what's the matter?" She asked, pulling a hand away from Blaine's face, "There isn't another damn bully, is there? I'll get him suspended, I promise, honey."

Blaine was chocking on his own tears. "Nu- No, well, I- I," He started, falling back into tears before he could finish.

His mom put a hand on his shoulder, "Relax, hun, deep breaths."

Blaine sobbed for a couple more minutes before he could pull himself together enough to talk. His mom didn't move, keeping her hand on his shoulder, unmoving. "It- it was David. He called me a faggot the other day and I guess he's not sorry. And then, then- Kurt," he whispered. Tears still rolled down his cheeks. He couldn't make himself say anymore after Kurt.

"Hun, who's Kurt? Do I need to get him suspended, too?" She said, squeezing his shoulder.

"No, mom, you can't get David suspended because this happened off campus." Blaine whispered, almost wishing she could get David suspended, "And Kurt's fine."

"Who's Kurt, hun?" She asked. She did have a slight idea.

Blaine bit his lip, leaning into his mothers chest. "Mom, I- I think I love him."

She stared at the wall behind him, standing still, Blaine's face in her chest. She could feel his uneven breathing from crying. Hesitantly, she put an arm around him, rubbing his back. For a second, she wanted to cry. Her son had found love? That was wonderful. But that love was a boy. She'd always known about Blaine, and it never made her love him any less, but that didn't mean she wished he'd come home one day, kissing a girl on the front porch after their first date. Oh course, she'd always love this Kurt as much as she'd love a girl Blaine brought home. She was proud of Blaine, but it was moments like this, when Blaine was home from school, sobbing into her work clothes when she wished he could just be a normal little boy. He didn't deserve this. Maybe it was a curse. Or maybe the homophobes where the curse. One way or another, Blaine didn't get a normal, childish life and he didn't deserve this.

"Hun, why don't you stay home from school today and take a nap. Figure stuff out," She said, pulling Blaine's face away from her. She held his beautiful face in his hands, sighing.

"Thank you, mom," he whispered, taking an arm and wiping the silent tears from his face.

She kissed his forehead, pushing his greased back hair back even further with her hand, even though it didn't need to be pushed back. "I love you, Blaine. Always. No matter what. You know that, right?"

Blaine looked down, a tiny little smile forming on his lips, "I know, mom. I love you, too."

* * *

I'm so proud of myself for telling writer's block who's boss! I feel like dancing! Ahh!

So, anyway, my reviews, you guys are so awesome. I can not explain with words how ecstatic it makes me when someone reveiws and tells me I'm good. It makes me want to dance. On stage. With Darren Criss and Chris Colfer at my side, and them singing all my favorite songs and I'm just kind of swaying back and forth because I can't sing for my life. But yeah. **Reviewers, you are all showered in imaginary cookies from the heavens, or so I declare.**

But you silent alerters on the other hand... tsk tsk... Don't be shy! **I love you! Review!**

Not to come on to strong or anything...


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee or Crest. In fact, I don't even brush my teeth as much as I should. That's right. _Shun me._

Kind of short. Not too bad. Oh well. Enjoy!

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"Did you know you smell like cucumbers?" Blaine asked, running a hand through his hair, not remembering to stop before his hand got all greasy.

Kurt snorted. It was the kind of snort that happens when you didn't have a stuffy nose, so it was more like a quick and unnatural inhalation. "Yes. I heard that when you where waddling, drunk, through my house."

Blaine looked at the floor, puckering his lips, "Oh."

"But you know, I get that a lot. I have this hand soap that's supposed to smell like cucumbers, and I used it once and I can't get that stupid scent off. It's been at least a month." Kurt said, sideways smile on his face. Blaine loved that sideways smile. His soft pink lips that looked like they hadn't been chapped a day of his life curve on one side, just so you can dimly see his perfect teeth. You'd swear that boy is a model for Crest, his smile was perfect.

"Did you try tomato juice?" Blaine mumbled, his mind a thousand miles away in la-la land.

Kurt raised one of those perfectly sculpted eyebrows, his smile remaining on his face, just a little less sideways and a little more normal. "That's for skunk spray, Blaine, do I really smell that bad? Honestly, I kind of like it but-"

Blaine cut him off, snapping out of his trance, "I like it, too!"

Okay, so maybe he wasn't one hundred percent back to reality. But a lot of people would say reality is sort of worthless. So Blaine accepted that and continued to find himself somewhere between Kurt's sparkling blue-green eyes that reminded him of a lake he went to when to he was little and his huge smile and perfect pink lips that looked so _kissable. _

_Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up._

Kurt giggled. God, Blaine loved his giggle- the way he grabbed his hand and started to unconsciously swing it back and forth, his long eyelashes fluttering, his unimaginably cute smile lighting up the room.

He was speaking, but Blaine didn't hear words. More like Kurt's voice, that sounded beautiful and soft even when he wasn't singing. Blaine was only half aware of the way his head tilted, how his eyes lit up. Kurt thought it was cute, even if he knew it was simply another tick of Blaine's, he only did when he saw those pictures on the Internet of the little puppy dog and tiny kittens who where cuddled up together.

A little girl, about five, in a little pink sundress, walked up to Kurt and tugged on his uniform jacket. They where in a crowded coffee shop, so her mom must of lost her. Blaine was still deep in la-la land, in which Kurt and himself where currently frolicking through a field of sunflowers, or something in that general category.

"Mister," She said, little brown pigtails with pink ribbons bouncing up and down. Kurt looked down. Was this a dream? Cute little girls like this only came along in the movies.

"Where's your mommy?" He asked, bending over. Blaine found himself with his head practicality under the table so he could see what was going on.

"My mommy," She said pointing to a woman in a knee-long, purple dress with a long brown ponytail who was waiting in line. She didn't look at them, but she was smiling and Kurt could feel that it was towards his direction. The little girl took a deep breath like she planned to recite the dictionary in one long breath, "Said that she thinks the boy with the funny hair sitting across from you is very cute and she says that, that, that, if anybody ever, ever, _ever _tries to bring you down, you are very perfect and they are all very silly and very not nice."

Kurt looked at the boy across from him, the boy with the funny hair. That hair was funny, greased down like that. He _was _cute. Very cute. Almost as cute as this little girl in front of him. He was leaning on the table, one hand holding up his chin, his eyes still staring in that pleasant way that didn't make Kurt uncomfortable, unlike all the questioning and _very not nice _staring he got to much.

If anyone ever tries to bring down, your perfect. That was to beautiful. Sure, it was like one of those little pep talks you get on those cough drops, but an acctual person saying that? That was so much more wonderful.

Kurt almost cried, but the good crying. He looked up at the woman in line, who looked at him, her face beaming.

For a minute, it was like everything was going to be okay, all the time.

They made eye contact, and there smiles where big enough to match. That smile, it was like it was from God, and Kurt was atheist, so that was saying a lot. It just told him everything was going to be okay. No one, no matter how _stupid,_ not matter how very silly and very not nice, could change that.

He looked back down at the little girl who was twirling her pigtails, chewing on something. He leaned down, whispering in to her ear.

"I want you to tell your mommy she just changed my life, okay? In a good way."

She nodded, like she was on a mission. She ran off, her little brown ponytails bouncing, to her mother and told her the message.

That woman looked at him, smiling so big, he almost died. But it would be a good way to die, dying because you where so happy you couldn't hold it all in anymore.

It was like Kurt was a more confident, more important Kurt after hearing that. No one was going to bring him down. He was at the top of the world. And Blaine Anderson was going to hear it.

He stood up, and he was tempted to climb up on the table, but that might be a little to much, not to mention his weight would probably bring down the table. He took a breath, puffing out his chest.

"Blaine Anderson, will you be my boyfriend?"

A couple people in the shop gasped. He'd yelled it. He wanted everyone to hear it, and if they didn't like it, screw them. Kurt didn't look back and check, but he knew, knew that woman was still smiling. Probably bigger, if possible.

Blaine snapped out of it. He was all the way back to reality. He knew that Kurt had just screamed this out loud to the entire shop, busy on a Wednesday morning. He didn't even care.

His jaw fell open and he doubted he'd ever get it to close again. Did Kurt know this was all he'd been thinking about ever sense Breadsticks? He really shouldn't hesitate. That might cause Kurt to get the wrong idea.

It was a little weird, and it probably ruined all effects wished for, but Blaine stood up and walked around that stupid table that never allowed the freedom of hugs, and that boy threw his arms around Kurt's neck.

Their faces weren't more then an inch apart. Blaine was all to tempted to kiss him, but one thing at a time, right? Blaine blinked, his eyelashes almost touching Kurt's face.

"Yes," he whispered, like that was every word in the universe. Yes. Yes. Yes. He loved the sound of that word. He almost said it twice.

And just like that, with actual _applause _from the people in line at the coffee shop and the complete shunning of whoever wasn't, Blaine and Kurt where _boyfriends._

It was all to perfect to be true. _

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_**Reviews? **I love them like a cow loves a vegan.

I have an idea... when I reach 100 reviews, (I'm halfway there!) Blaine will do something. Something very amazing and very fluffy, and fluffy in both terms.

**When I get 100 reviews, I will have Blaine wear his hair natural. **

So you know... review! It'll take a couple chapters but I know we can do it! Together! As a whole!


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee. God, I hate having to say that. I don't own the Internet, Google, Gatorade, or TLC, either.

Very fluffy. And your not going to hear to much plot until the next chapter, but, believe it or not, there's plot in here too!

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"I hate homework." Blaine muttered. He twirled the pen in his hand, his face immensely frustrated with the rather innocent looking paper in front of him.

"It's only copying the stuff in the notebook on this," Kurt said, pushing the paper around on the table with his pointed finger. "It's boring but not hard."

"That's what you think! This is confusing. I hate global warming." He shouted, throwing a fist the table.

Kurt puckered his lips and raised an eyebrow, "You know, I hate global warming, too, but this is about the structure of matter."

Blaine looked at Kurt, eyes wide and confused, his head inching forward, "What? I swear, I _swear _it was talking about emission and smoke stacks and all that stuff?"

"No? Are you reading the right page? Ninety-seven?" Kurt asked. He grabbed his paper of notes from across the coffee table. Kurt was sitting on the fancy leather couch while Blaine sat on his knees on the shaggy rug. He skimmed it while Blaine looked frantically over his textbook for a page number.

"Blaine, I'm afraid your on the wrong page. We haven't even begun to study this." Kurt said, just as Blaine fell over to his back, moaning, his textbook over his face as he lay on the floor.

Under his textbook, Kurt could hear a muffled, "Page one hundred ninety-seven."

Kurt bit his lip, fighting back a chuckle. A hour and three pages of notes, and poor Blaine was on the wrong page? He knew they should of read it together.

Blaine held the textbook up so it wasn't on top of his face anymore. "Can we take a break before I die of science overload?"

"Yeah. You can copy mine. I'm pretty much down with this chapter." Kurt offered.

Blaine sighed, still sprawled out on the floor, "I'm a terrible, terrible cheater but I don't think I can object to that."

"Yeah, you can just copy those in a couple minutes and then, all we have to do is that algebra homework, which shouldn't take to long. I'm fairly good at algebra." Kurt said, slamming his textbook shut to signify he'd had enough.

"Good at algebra? I picked a good person to do my homework with. I usually just type the questions into Google and I end up with a link to some kind of algebra calculator. My algebra teacher is yet to find my secrets." Blaine said, and pushing himself up in to a sitting position with the support of the coffee table, he repeated, "Once again. I'm a terrible, terrible cheater."

"Understandable. I'd do it, too, if I'd ever thought of it. Or if my dad didn't keep my browser history only deletable when you put a password in it." Kurt said, sighing.

"Burt is awesome. A little overprotective. But awesome," Blaine said, looking up at the ceiling.

Kurt swallowed, "And how exactly do you know my dad is overprotective?" All he could think of was the worst. Confrontation? Oh no. God, no, please, no.

Blaine smiled to himself, swaying, eyes still on the ceiling, a little guilty but Kurt dismissed it out of worries what he was guilty of was the last of the truth, "Oh, no reason, your just always telling me about him. A lot better then my dad."

Kurt pulled his legs up on to the couch so he was sitting Indian style. "What's wrong with your dad?"

Blaine blew his cheeks up with air. He was so weird like that today you'd of sworn he had a little to much sugar in his Lucky Charms this morning, but the truth was he was just a little to elated for him to stay on regular human sanity levels.

"Nothing, really. I mean. Well, a lot. Uh, well," Blaine mumbled, almost lying back down. "I'm afraid he isn't exactly pro-gay. I mean, I'm sure he's not against it... well, I'm not really sure. I know he doesn't want a gay son. I know that. I'm sure behind all that... confusion he still loves me. It's not like he's abusive or ready to disown me. He just doesn't get it. At all."

Kurt looked down at his sock feet, his lime green socks that where growing browner and browner with each step he'd taken inside this house. He didn't want to day anything, and he knew Blaine planned to continue. Kurt understood how lucky he was to have a father who got it. He just didn't understand how hard it was to go without.

"When I, when I told him," Blaine cringed, staring off in to the other side of the room. "Well, I was thirteen and I had the worst crush on this boy at school. I barely ever talked to him and yet I was convinced we where going to get married someday. I mean, I never found out if he was really gay or not before I transferred, he never had a girlfriend. But I remember that night, everything about it. It was really cold so I had to wear a blanket over my shoulders even though all the heaters where cranked up and my mom had gotten Thai food on her way home from work. I miss it so much, when my dad used to always watch football with my on Sundays and my mom would just roll her eyes. Now my dad wouldn't even dream of watching football with me. So I just announced it that night, I told them I was madly in love with a boy and my mom was all sweet and holding my hand. But my dad was trying to convince me I was being an idiot and I didn't know what I was talking about, and, well, in the heat of the moment he said a lot of real bad things about gay people I'll never be able to get out of my head. I was crying and I went to my room and all night I had to listen to them having a screaming match. He never hit me or my mom or anything bad like that, so I guess I'm lucky, but my dad will never treat me like he treated me when I was twelve, on those Sunday nights when we'd make fun of my mom and spill Gatorade on the floor. After that he never, ever asked me to watch football with him again. If I went in there, he wouldn't talk to me and he'd always walk out of the room and make some snide comment about my outfit or really anything that was so normal, he'd say I looked gay. He got better after a while. He doesn't do it anymore. But I haven't watched football with my dad in so long and it's almost like this house isn't the same without football. It's weird. And I know I should be talking about the absence of a real father, but I have a father, and he does love me, he just doesn't love me like a son, he likes me like that kid who lives in his house he has to talk to. Is that love? I don't know if that counts."

Blaine rattled on, but he looked like he wanted to stop. Kurt stood up from the couch and sat by Blaine on the floor. Completely innocent, he got close to Blaine and squeezed his hand. "Did you know ninety-one percent of giraffe sex is homosexual?"

Blaine looked at Kurt for a for a minute, searching his ever-so serious face before he burst out laughing, throwing his head back.

Kurt tried to look hurt, but he was smiling a little under it, "No! Really! I'm not kidding. The Internet told me."

"How," Blaine said in between laughs, "Are giraffes not extinct?"

Kurt was beaming now, but he still tried to sound serious, "Well, that leaves nine percent to be heterosexual."

"Kurt, your insane, you know that?" Blaine yelled.

Kurt looked at the ground, nodding, "Yeah. I get that a lot."

This only resulted in Blaine laughing harder. Once again, he found himself lying on the floor. Kurt leaned back, chuckling, and fell on to the floor next to Blaine.

They laid like that for a few seconds before Blaine, who had stopped laughing but there was still a distinct grin plastered onto his face. Panting a little from all that laughing, he grabbed Kurt's hand and held it over his chest. Blaine closed his eyes.

"You know, when I was little, I had all these glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. I made her peel them off when I turned ten and I was convinced I was an invincible double-digit and I was too big for stars. But I kind of with they where still there so we could go up to my room and turn the lights off and pretend like we where out in night on a summer night and we where listening to crickets. That would be perfect." Blaine whispered.

"Or we could kiss in the rain except it's nice and sunny out for once." Kurt said, his voice mimicking Blaine's soft tone.

Blaine chuckled, "When my mom comes home from work I can have her spray us with the garden hose and we could kiss."

"I don't know about all those cliches. I like lying on a rug, holding hands. It can be ours. No one else will lie on the floor and hold hands, just us." Kurt breathed.

"That's awfully cute."

For what seemed like forever but not long enough, they just lied there. It wasn't awkward, it was just them. Soon enough, their breathing was in sync. Both of them had their eyes closed. Their knotted hands where still on Blaine's chest, and Kurt could feel his steady heartbeat.

Kurt would of thought nothing could ruin this. But he was wrong. He always was.

Without any notice, the front door opened, dragging on the rug, making a rather loud noise. The door opened to the kitchen so they had a little bit of time. Blaine sat up unnaturally quick, his hand still holding onto Kurt's, and hissed, "That's my dad. Oh, God! It's five, isn't it! He gets home from work at five."

Kurt opened his eyes, pulling his hand away from Blaine's. Blaine grabbed the remote and turned the TV in front of them on so it looked a lot more normal.

"Blaine?" His father yelled, his voice deep. He spoke the same time as TLC came up on the TV, and someone was shouting about their not-perfect dress. Blaine looked at Kurt, almost giving him a telepathic signal to be quiet and stay down.

When he turned the corner, all Kurt could process in the first few seconds was that this man standing in front of them didn't seem elated with Kurt's presence.

* * *

Oh yes, in case your wondering, my giraffe fact is true. I love the power of the Internet. I maybe learned that in the fifth grade when we where going reports on any animal we liked. It was kind of awesome.

Tell me your likings and your disliking. **Reviews cause the magic rainbow unicorns to present you with bags and _bags _of the glitter glue you secretly wanted for your birthday last year. **And I'm still going to give you that awesometastic fluff when the the time of 100 reviews comes along!


	17. Chapter 17

**Edit when your not half sleep!**

I wrote that as a reminder to myself and I didn't have the heart to remove it. I find it amusing that while writing this, as I know notice, I referred to myself as half sleep. Not _asleep. _Sleep. I'm sleep. I like that.

So anyway, I was _was _half _asleep _when I wrote this, so I apologize if it's not to great. It's mostly just about the character of Blaine's father, not really anything else. Tell me of you like (or dislike) it, please, because I'm torn between describing this chapter as wonderful or terrible.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, Ronald McDonald, McDonald's, My Little Pony, Donald Trump, TLC, or Say Yes To The Dress. And yes, the disclaimer is on the bottom of the A/N. I'm really mixing stuff up!

* * *

He was the splitting image of Blaine. Well, maybe if he was in a hat. His hair was pin strait and blond which contrasted madly to Blaine's hair, but other then that, he was just an older version of Blaine from his deep-set, hazel eyes to his abnormally large feet. But Blaine would never have that many frown lines on his face when he got older. Not so many wrinkles from making faces that looked like you'd just smelt something nasty. When Kurt saw him, he knew Blaine's father made that face too much, judging from that same look he gave him when he walked in. The only time Blaine would ever make that face is if he _did _smell something nasty, and in which case, he'd at least have the sense to stop before people stated questioning his sanity. Kurt knew he wasn't making that face as a reaction from his strawberry hair wash or his cucumber hand soap. It was that look, that look he made with his nose scrunched up and his brow melded into a thick and rather bushy triangle, that said everything. It was a the worst first impression Kurt had ever had, ever worse then the guy at McDonald's who dressed up like Ronald McDonald and tried to give him a hug. This impression, instead of _I'm a creeper who likes to watch My Little Pony when no one's looking!, _it very clearly said, complete with the feeling of spit in your face:

_What is a vermin like you doing in _my _house?_

Okay, so maybe Kurt wouldn't of heard 'vermin' if he was telepathic. Some mean thoughts deep in his head said he probably didn't even have the vocabulary, but that business suit and matching briefcase implied otherwise. Maybe we actually would of said vermin. Who knows? He seemed like the kind of guy who always had to make things more important then they sounded. Act completely proper under all circumstances. That must be where Blaine gets it from!

Blaine's father, stuck in the doorway with that stupid look glued on his face, couldn't be the nicest of folk. Sure, he knew you shouldn't judge people by the first impression, but there where a lot of logical things to say about this man that reflected his personality, starting at Kurt with his homophobic and disgusted glare. But aside from the obvious, he had a short and fast stride, that was far from a long and confident ones Blaine took. Blaine's father's legs where long, too, so he looked ridiculous taking those short steps, making sure each one was the right distance away from each other and came off as utterly perfect. He was the opposite of Blaine on the inside, and Kurt was sure of it. Kurt almost felt a pang of pain for this man who looked so revolted by his presence before remembering his common sense claimed this man was nothing but full of self loath and confusion. Which was exactly what he was sorry for even if that was what he was mad at him for, too.

"Blaine, who is this?" He shouted. His voice was naturally loud, but it didn't sound like it was used to doing that much. He was dressed in full business attire, but something told Kurt this guy couldn't be your standard Donald Trump. Maybe a tech or something? Maybe he just like suits? Kurt liked bow ties, and bow ties where for formal occasions but he wore them anyway.

Blaine stood up from where he was kneeling on the floor, and muted the blaring 'Say Yes To The Dress' that was ever so rudely interrupting them on the television. To be truthful, Kurt would rather watch some bad TLC fashion sitcom then go through this. A rather fake smile smothered Blaine's face. He looked like he was in physical pain.

"Dad, this is Kurt," Blaine said through that smile that mostly consisted of Blaine mashing his teeth together. Kurt felt awfully vulnerable sitting on the rug still, so he picked himself up as the momentary silence occurred.

"Yeah, uh, I would be Kurt," He mumbled, trying to make eye contact with Blaine's father but it was terribly hard, due to Blaine's father staring at the floor.

Blaine stepped on Kurt's foot, hard enough to make him visibly cringe in pain. He must be doing something wrong. Should he have stayed quiet? Should he of stayed down? This was more confusing then it should of been, certainly.

His father didn't stick out a friendly hand or something, which by this point would of seemed almost out of character. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his (absolutely disgusting) tweed jacket and said, "Hello. Call me Dr. Anderson."

What? No first names? He was a doctor? Kurt felt like moaning. He hated this. Who called their boyfriend's father by 'doctor?' Bella Swan? _Why, hello, doctor Anderson, I am absolutely, madly in love with your son._ That sentence wasn't complete without a cute little twirl or something. Though, saying mister or any first name wouldn't really fix that sentence, but that was aside the point.

Kurt still had an impulse to stick out his hand, but he didn't know if that would lead to yet another fierce stomp on his foot, courtesy of Blaine. He was a little curious to feel his grip. Someones grip said a lot about a person. Kurt had read his books. It was simply important knowledge.

"Uh, hello. Dr... Anderson." Kurt whispered, holding his hands behind his back at looking at Blaine, pleading for help. He hated how awkward this is, and he hated even more then that how Blaine's father didn't seem to notice.

"Are you a friend of Blaine's?" He asked. No eye contact. How was Kurt supposed to talk to the side of this guy's head?

Kurt nodded. He didn't really know if Blaine's father had seen it or not, being he was deeply entranced by his lace-up leather shoes. Kurt would of been in a trance, too, if he was wearing lace-up leather shoes. That was not only unnecessary but it looked terrible and only improved the impression that this man was in his late eighties. A tweed jacket and lace up, leather shoes? That look went out when we reached 1890.

"Are you gay?"

Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat. He'd never had trouble answering this question, before. But Blaine saved him, sounding extremely annoyed, "Yes, dad, he is."

He nodded, but so fast it was more like a head bop. Ah hah! A nervous tick. Kurt knew he could find one eventually. Head bops. He had to write that down somewhere.

"Are you two... uh..."

Blaine threw his arm around Kurt's neck, and even though Kurt was a good inch taller then him. In any other case, Kurt would be fighting back a mad case of the giggles, but being in front of Blaine's dad would be stressful even if you weren't talking to him. Trying to figure this man out was like trying to put together a puzzle with pieces for two different puzzles. He pulled Kurt close to him by his neck, and that gesture was almost a little painful. Kurt could tell Blaine wasn't really himself around his father. Blaine's face was practically radiating fierce annoyance with his father, but under that, he almost looked a little smug with his arm around Kurt's neck. He should of looked _just _smug. He shouldn't of pulled Kurt by his neck or stomped on his foot earlier. "Dad, Kurt is my boyfriend."

Blaine held Kurt, waiting for a reaction from his father, only thinking the worse could come next. He knew someday his dad would snap. Someday his dad would make another snide comment, and after that, when Blaine denied it and only called his father some names, that would be when he'd hit him. He hoped when that day came his mother wouldn't be home, and she wouldn't have to worry about it. His father took a breath, or more or less just exhaled for an impossibly long time, staring at Blaine, before turning around walking out, one short stride after another.

_This isn't _normal._ This isn't_ right_. This is so _wrong.

Kurt held his breath until "Dr. Anderson" left the room. When he'd left, he collapsed into the couch, and Blaine did the same thing, practically falling into Kurt's shoulder.

"He's not a doctor." Blaine explained after less then a minutes silence, "He's in some cheap Internet collage. My mom's the one making all the money as the most successful real estate agent in all of Ohio. He's the secretary at some dentist's office. I'm sure that's as close he'll ever get to being a doctor. Please call him Henry if you ever have to talk to him again. I don't want you calling my dad the same fake name as some kid who has to many cavities."

Kurt fidgeted with the lose cloth on his school uniform, barely hearing Blaine's rant about Henry. "I should go."

Blaine felt all that anger at his father build up again. Why did he have to ruin _everything? _

"We can go in my room," Blaine offered, hopeful, "So then we can finish our homework,"

Kurt slung his book bag over his shoulder, "No, I should leave anyway."

Anyway. Meaning that Kurt had other fake excuses for having to leave other then _being freaking scared by his insane father. _

Kurt hesitated before leaving. "Your dad... he's in the kitchen still," he whispered, embarrassed.

Blaine sighed, walking Kurt out to his car and out through the front door located in the kitchen. Blaine could feel his fathers eye burning holes into the back of his neck, so he put an arm around Kurt, not only to irritate his father but to protect Kurt's innocent, soft, pale skin from his father's heat ray vision.

They stood in front of Kurt's car for a minute. "I am... so sorry for my dad... if he... scared you." Blaine pleaded.

Kurt pulled the door open and sat in his car, tiny and clearly fake smile on his face, "It's okay."

Blaine was to upset to sigh, he just held it in. "Goodbye, Kurt."

"Goodbye, Blaine," Kurt said. He slammed his door shut before Blaine could get those last few words out of his mouth. They always got stuck. But he wasn't even quite sure if they where true yet. He watched Kurt drive out of the driveway, standing out in the cold for a few minutes after he'd already left. The journey to the front door five feet away was a long and hard one.

Blaine walked into his house, hands in his pockets, and when he reached his kitchen his dad was there, waiting for him.

"I don't want him in my house again." He said. He didn't sound mad or sad or anything. He just said it and words came out of his mouth.

"Dad," Blaine hissed, the front door still open behind him, "You can't do that."

"Yes, I can. End of discussion." He demanded, and marched back to his laptop that was opened up on the dining table, probably getting ready to learn how to preform open heart surgery, the same open heart surgery he'd never, ever do.

Blaine, fuming, grabbed his homework in the other room and almost marched up the stairs before the one question burning through his head decided it was to be answered.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs and yelled, full of rage, but not sarcastic, "I love you, dad."

The thing that followed, answering his question for the painful truth, was silence. Blaine wasn't even going to pretend like the water droplets on his algebra homework was spilled water.

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All I can say is **reviews are fantastical. **And painfully painful reviews are just as good, as long as they're the constructive kind of painfully painful. Notice how my vocabulary changes when I'm not writing this story? I fail at life.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, as much as I desperately wish I did. Because then I'd get to meet Darren Criss... *sigh filled with forbidden love*

I've been getting such wonderful reviews lately. Thank you all. I'm a 76... which means 14 until I reach 100, and I have a sweet little fluff chapter filled with Blaine's afro problem waiting in my documents! **Review! **I'm hoping I can get it by the next two or three chapters, but if I got fourteen reviews on this one chapter not only would I shower the already annoyed-with-me-and-my-constant-gloating-about-my-thousands-of-hits kids at my bus stop with glitter, but I'd tell my pet rainbow unicorn to come to each and every one of my reviewers houses and send you hand written notes in which I tell you how awesome you are and include a bag of freshly made cookies (with blue sprinkles and white chocolate chips) made by my sister. (Or at least, yoou can pretend I did that because I don't know any of your addresses, plus my pet unicorn is the size of my face and inanimate.) So yeah: **Review. **

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"David," Kurt yelled, panting, running to catch up with him in the school parking lot, "David!"

David spun around at Kurt, who looked like he'd run a couple miles before he got here. Granted, there wasn't a bead of sweat on his body, but that was probably due to all that moisturizer in his pores. David grabbed his shoulder as he hunched over, panting.

"You okay?" He asked, patting his shoulder as Kurt fell into a violent coughing fit. God, he sounded like a _dog. _"Do you need me to get the nurse?"

Some kid walked by with a couple other boys, laughing among themselves, shouting, "Bark! Bark!"

David glared at them, but of course, they where to amused with themselves to notice. He was tempted to yell, "Immature!", but he feared this would bring on some downgrading to the boy who was only clinging to the popularity that he was afraid almost never existed for himself. He'd already lost his best friend this month, he didn't need to top it by defending some short gay guy who may or may not be on the verge of hospitalization at the moment.

Kurt stood up strait, pulling David's hand off his back, "I'm- I'm," Kurt started, before another raspy cough interrupted him, "I'm fine. My allergies are going to kill me, pollen, oh God, I hate it."

"Maybe we should go inside?" David asked, his face genuinely concerned for Kurt. Well, that, and who wanted to carry their ex-friend's dead boyfriend into a crowded school? Exactly. That wouldn't go down well with Blaine. If playfully stealing a case of hair gel could make him violent (let's just say that guy doesn't have the hardest punch but he _does _have fingernails like little knives), he could only imagine the terrible, terrible things he'd to to David in that case. See, he _liked _being able to walk on two legs.

Kurt pulled on his David's uniform shirt for support, "No, no, we have to stay out here. My cough will get better when I stop panting."

"Isn't the cough causing the panting?" David asked. He started digging in his multiple pockets for the chance there might be a leftover cough drop in there from, oh, a couple months ago when he had the flu?

"No, I just, ran a ways, all the way from the campus where all the dorms are. I was talking to Wes." Kurt said. His coughing was started to gradually subside, but he still sounded like a smoker. Oh- God, was Kurt a smoker now? Who in the right mind would give Kurt a cigarette? Of all people, why would the health-and-image crazed Kurt Hummel smoke a cigarette?

"Kurt, do you smoke now?" David asked strictly. Kurt leaned back, raising an eyebrow in disgust, but the effect was kind of ruined because he hacked up some mucus midway through this gesture.

"God no! That's terrible! Why would you think that?" Kurt yelled.

David bit his lip and looked at the ground.

"Ignore that last question."

"Can we go inside before you die of an asthma attack?" David pleaded.

"First of all, I don't have asthma, I have chronic bronchitis." Kurt started, standing proud and tall, mostly due to the fact he didn't interrupt himself once with another cough.

"Why is chronic bronchitis supposed to be any better?" David asked, but Kurt ignored him.

"Second, what I'm about to confront you with may or may not cause you to scream in rage, so I would like it if we don't get suspended for yelling in the hallway."

Scream in rage? Oh no. David had a slight clue of where this was going.

David ground his teeth. "Alright, confront me."

Kurt coughed a little bit before talking. He seemed to have stopped coughing so frequently and so violently, but he was still a little out of breath, but one would probably blame that from the coughing at this point, not the entire running across a couple football fields deal.

"Okay. Just to be clear, this is a question not a statement." Kurt warned.

"Alright. Go. I want to get this over with."

"You are gay?"

Kurt did a very, very bad job at making that sound like a question. No 'are you?' He obviously thought he was. It was like he was sure of that. And David wasn't gay. God, he had a girlfriend, how _sick _would it be if he was gay and dating a girl? He could of at least ask if bisexual. Which he was not, but it wouldn't of sounded so doubting in the truth about David's sexuality.

"I am very well _not _gay, Kurt, thanks for the judgment," David spat. "So did Blaine come crying in to your shoulder again? Is that who told you?"

Nice David could go from Mean David in a second, just with the mention of gay. It was like turning a switch. But how do you turn that switch back once you've turned it? Apologize? Would Mean David take an apology? Maybe giving in would turn Mean David back to Nice David. Telling him that sure, you _could _of just been a homophobe all those years and never showed it until this convenient moment. But that wasn't possible. He had _just _shown a completely decent, if not positive, attitude towards Kurt, who he knew was gay from the moment he laid eyes on him.

"No. Wes told me. I just asked him why Blaine seemed scornful at every mention of your name, and he just told me." Kurt explained, "That's why I ran over here after talking to Wes. I just came to what seemed like the most reasonable conclusion. You where gay and you didn't want to hear about how happy Blaine was to be gay when you where still in the closet and didn't even want to admit you where in there. But David, I believe you. It was the easiest conclusion but that didn't mean it made the most sense. I know your madly in love, with, what's her name? Rebbecca or something?"

"Isabella, actually," David whispered. Surprisingly, he didn't sound so much like the rabid and bloodthirsty David he was a minute ago. Kurt must of done something right. It was either Isabella or Kurt admitting he was wrong. As much as Kurt wanted to believe it was that David was that madly in love with Isabella, but David was more of a person who liked to hear people admitting they where wrong and he was right.

"Yeah, Isabella, sorry. But, I just, David, I know your better then this. I know you have _some _kind of good reason for being such an ignorant jerk." Kurt said, putting a hand on David's shoulder to console this battle obviously going on inside him. Or apologize for calling an ignorant jerk, even though David very well knew he was one.

David brushed of Kurt's hand, and looked up from the ground and into Kurt's eyes. Kurt made another weird chocking noise that could be easily blamed on his cough. But in reality, it wasn't that. David's eyes where shining with tears, his face filled with sorrow.

"My sister died last week."

What? His sister died? Oh no. That sounded serious. Kurt didn't know if he could handle something this important even if he just walked himself right into it, knowing what was up ahead, deep down.

Kurt swallowed the lump forming in his throat, trying to keep his eyes on the same level as David's. "Why does your sister have anything to do with is?"

"She- she was a lesbian. She was twenty. I really, _really _don't want to talk about it. But no one accepted her and she... died. But she... did it to herself." David chocked. He looked like he was going to burst into tears at any given moment.

"So she... committed... suici-" Kurt stated, whispering, the stubborn howl of spring wind attempting to stop him.

"Please," David interrupted, pleading, "Don't say it."

Kurt sighed, but a sort of half-sigh that consisted mostly of a raspy breath due to his cough. "Then, why, oh why in the world, would you not accept Blaine for who he is after that?"

David took a second to think about it. "I don't know. I think I wanted him to snap out of it. Magically become straight, because I didn't want him to follow her. I guess I thought bullying him might make him change, somehow. I know it sounds stupid, but in the moment, it all seemed to make sense. I haven't been to sleep all night for the past week. I know Blaine will get over it, because Blaine is the Invincible Blaine, but I still feel bad."

"David," Kurt hissed, but gently, like this was some big secret, "Blaine isn't perfect. I mean, I thought he was, too, when I first met him, but he's not. Did he tell you about when he got... uh... sad for a while?"

David looked confused, "Depressed? No?"

"Well, I guess he was. He told me he's on meds." Kurt said. He hated how crazy it made Blaine sound by saying he was _on meds. _But he was. Further proving nobody's perfect. "I think you ought to apologize."

David made a face, but a sort of innocent and sad face with a little disgust in there way, way down. "Apologize? Wouldn't it just be easier to never speak to him again?"

"Of course, for you, but not for Blaine, believe it or not. He didn't even tell _me. _And I'm his _boyfriend._ It must be bad."

David's attention span decided to stick to something else entirely, and David was well known for that habit. "Wait, what? You guys are, like, together now?"

Kurt sighed. "I'll tell you about this later. I have to get to class." He fastened the button on his jacket, standing strait, attempting to look like he knew the answers to the universe. "I hope you make the right decision."

And David stood there, dumbstruck, wondering how Kurt could sound exactly like his mom sometimes.

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All I can say is **reviewing makes me smile, not just on the inside, but physically so the entire worls is all like, "Dude, what up with that creepy smile? Could you... back up a few feet?" **

That and Kurt's cough isn't significant to the plot, I just have a cough and kids like to breath on my neck and yell, "Bark! Bark!", so I needed to vent.

**I love you guys! Review!  
**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee. Or Hallmark, Paramore, All-American Rejects, Katy Perry, Adam Lambert, or any pop star or greeting card store of any kind.

I love my reviews and my reviewers! You guys are so awesome. 17 more reviews until Blaine mysteriously loses his hair gel... **Review! Review! Review! Ahh! **Seriously, though. I'm getting all plotty and I can't just stop in the middle of all this plot and give you fluff. So hurry up! Or else I'm going to have to make it to end the story with, so you'll have to wait a long, long time for your precious fluffy fluff! I have 25 favorites on this story. If you all reviews, the world will have more fluff, very quickly! **Not to mention I'd be jumping with joy.**

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David hesitantly pulled a piece of paper out of his notebook, cringing at the tearing sound it made and he couldn't quiet. The teacher seemed fairly into her lecture, so she probably wouldn't notice, but he knew very well that this could get him suspended after doing it once last month. He couldn't wait, though, until lunch. Guilt was building up in his stomach by the tons and he was getting physically sick. It had been a couple periods since he'd talked to Kurt, and with Blaine sitting directly behind him, this was the best opportunity he'd get for until lunch, and if he didn't say anything by then he'd be vomiting all over the teachers floor, and even if it would destroy his collage applications, he'd rather get suspended for a week then puke on the innocent boy to his left who looked like he was already struggling with his hygiene problems.

That red pen was heavy in his hands, heavier then it should be. He sucked up, though, and in his terrible and shaky handwriting he wrote:

_I'm sorry. _

He felt so stupid. After a week of grief and regret, all he could think of was "I'm sorry." That wasn't even Hallmark greeting card worthy. But what else was he supposed to write? _Blaine, I deeply apologize for my inappropriate and ignorant demeanor in the duration of the previous week. _That just sounded arrogant. Hallmark still wouldn't like it.

He turned around in his desk so he was facing Blaine, not taking his eyes of the notebook paper he was folding into sixteenths. Blaine looked up from his textbook and grabbed the note before looking around to make sure no one was looking. He didn't look nearly as shocked as David had expected, almost like Blaine had been waiting for this.

David turned back around in his seat before the teacher could catch him, hearing the faint crinkle of paper behind him as Blaine opened the note.

After a few seconds, David felt a tap on his shoulder, and without looking at Blaine, he grabbed the note in his hand. It was neatly folded in half, smoothed out and perfect. David dropped the note on his desk and stared at it for a couple seconds. He didn't want to see what it had to say, whether good or bad. If it was good, that meant Blaine would want to ask him about it and he'd be forced to write the would "sister" and "died" on the same sheet of paper and he didn't know if he could handle that without bursting into tears. And if it was bad, well, the word bad really spoke for itself. The guilt was already weighing him down and any more could cause serious health problems.

David unfolded it, smoothing it out on his desk. Blaine's writing was so neat, unlike David's. It was confined in between the lines of the paper and almost looked like he'd spent a little too much time making sure each letter stretched from the line over it to the one under it.

_Kurt told me what happened this morning. I get it. Your forgiven now. _

Of course, "your forgiven now" was supposed to be erased, but David could still dimly make it out. He looked at the page for a second, wondering if this meant it was done. David was forgiven now. Did he need to continue to badger Blaine about how bad he feels in the middle of biology? But he really couldn't help what happened next. He _had _to do it. He had to know.

_Thanks- Are you and Kurt together now? _

David was really known for changing the mood with a snap of his ever-moving mind. When he put his arm behind him, looking ahead in his seat, reaching towards Blaine, Blaine grabbed it thinking nothing of it other then David continuing to give him information he already knew about. Kurt had told him everything in first period (during a Chemistry experiment- they didn't break rules like David did). All about David's sister and David's almost good reason for being a complete and total jerk. Blaine was undoubtedly relieved when he heard this. He knew that David was still David, and he'd always be that fairly-good friend to Blaine. He was honestly afraid he'd lost him.

He grabbed the note, opening it up.

He started scribbling words, completely different from that neat handwriting he was using a second ago. _Did Kurt tell you? Yeah. But it's none of your business. _

He crumpled into a ball and threw it on the back of David's head. It was a risky move- the teacher almost noticed. But Blaine really wished that paper ball was a brick right then. He wasn't really sure why- until the note that came back clarified, which he threw back, David's face smug.

_Puppy love!_

He was going to kill that boy. Snap his damn neck in two, right here in front of all these kids, and their naive biology teacher who still hadn't noticed the note passing, let alone Blaine's rage. His conscious, though, quickly corrected him and Blaine just wrote on that paper, his poor pencil grounding into the paper.

_Your such an idiot! God! Why should I forgive you if your going to do this again? _

He tossed the paper ball, once again, to the back of David's head. How wonderful would it be if that paper was a brick? Perfect.

Blaine sat back in his seat, fuming, watching the David in front of him write away for probably ten minutes before tossing it derectly into Blaine's face, biting his lip, trying not to laugh. That boy was such a _pain. _

_I know for a fact you're not in love with Kurt. Once again, must I remind you how you came crying to Kurt conveniently after... Jerry? Whoever. He dumped you after to the Gap Attack and then after whatever happened with Rose you don't like to talk about, you fell in love with Kurt. I'm just saying Blaine. Kurt's so not your type. I remember your crush on that guy in the All-American Rejects, and I'll admit he was kind of good looking (I'm still straight!), but you liked him for his hair and that song he wrote about moving on. Move on? Something like that. Kurt's much more of an Adam Lambert kind of guy, and you hate Adam Lambert. I had to listen to those rants, and I'm such a good friend I didn't zone out like I do with Wes and his obsession for Katy Perry and that chick from Paramore with the red hair. And I actually think she's hot! But anyway, I think you like Kurt because Kurt is probably the only openly gay guy in all of Ohio. Well, I wouldn't say all of Ohio, but at least Westerville is pretty short on openly gay guys. Just think about it. I'm always the voice of reason in the end. Like when Wes wanted to go out with my ex-girlfriend, and I warned him, and he ignored me and know he has a fear of tall brunettes? _

Blaine ripped a new piece of paper out of his notebook, rather fiercely, due to the lack of space on that page. Not to mention it was starting to tear from being crumpled so much.

_His name is Jeremiah and Rose is actually Rachel, believe it or not. And maybe I just didn't know how beautiful Kurt was til now. Adam Lambert is fine, I just don't like his style or his voice or his lyrics. Other then that, Adam Lambert is fine. You can't judge him just because he is a kind of terrible singer. I bet he's nice. On American Idol, when he wasn't wearing all that make up, he was actually sort of hot. So there. _

David read this over, smiling. How he loved taunting Blaine. He was well aware of how mean he was being, but it's okay to be mean if you actually mean it, right?

_But... you said you'd tell me later, like, two weeks ago. So tell me now- what do you love so much about Kurt you can't sleep at night without it there? _

Blaine, for the third time now, was pelted in the face with the crumpled ball. He opened it. Behind a lot of anger, suddenly, was worry.

_He's cute. He smells like cucumbers. He has an amazing voice. _

As Blaine was writing this, he was pelted by another paper thanks to of David. It read:

_And it can't be that he's cute, he can sing, or his annoying stench of various soaps. _

Blaine muttered under his breath, shoving his paper he was still writing on in his pocket.

He gave up. All he could think about was how Kurt was really, _really _cute. He meant it. But was that enough to love a person? Was it really _love? _There wasn't any instant click. No love-at-first-sight kind of deal. Was crush-at-first-sight good enough? He thought Kurt was cute from the second he laid eyes on him. He grabbed his hand and ran dreamily down a hallway with him! Isn't that love?

Blaine was fooling himself. He'd read enough romance novels to know that love was more then giggles and dreamy fantasies. In fact- that was exactly what Blaine described _puppy love _as. And that was what he had with Kurt. Fantasies and giggles.

Ten minutes later, as the teacher dismissed them, David walked over to Blaine, and leaning over so he was whispering into Blaine's ear, he said, looking ever smug, "Exactly. Puppy love."

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**Review! Review! Review! Please! I love you all! Even my silent alerters- but I'd love you much, much more if you where to review!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee. Or CVS.

**I love you guys! **Ahh! So many reviews! I love, love, love, love, (continues until word count says 957 extra words after story), LOVE you guys. Really.

So here's Blaine and his_ epic hair of awesome_ due to all your awesome reviews.

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"Blaine, it's seventy degrees out. What's up with the hat?"

Blaine looked a little paranoid, pulling the two side of that navy blue knit beanie over his ears, bending over so no one could see his face but Kurt, who was walking beside him in the school hallway. God, he wasn't a criminal or something now, was he? What would _Blaine Anderson _do to provoke the government? Steal hair gel by the ton or sing Disney songs at the top of his lungs on a crowded highway causing some terrible accident? There was always that slight chance Blaine would lose it and murder David, but when Kurt saw Wes last night he didn't seem to be mourning anything.

"My hair is a mess." He hissed, tugging on that poor hat even harder, growing worse and worse as he spoke. "My mom found my hair gel stash in the back of the fridge and threw it out, thinking it was old mashed potatoes. Or at least that's what she said. I doubt that gooey white gel is easily mistaken for old mashed potatoes, especially when it's in a damn _hair gel case. _I think she's just out to get me. But anyway, I couldn't even wet it down or brush it enough for it to at least look normal. It's terrible, Kurt." He finished, and he kept tugging on that thin hat, and when a seam broke and made a loud splitting sound, he didn't loosen his grip, if he even noticed.

Kurt's eyes lit up, "So... you mean... you have _curls today?_"

Blaine's face was so full of useless concern for himself, "Curls?" He yelled, "Uncontrollable afro is more like it!"

Kurt sighed, shaking his head in sheer disappointment in Blaine, "Don't be self conscious about your hair! It's beautiful. I almost saw it when you where in the shower last week, and it was amazing."

"Exactly. You _almost _saw it. If you saw all of that hair you'd think I came out of some 70's roller skating movie and you'd force me in those sequin bell bottoms you bought at Goodwill last week without a second thought so my hair would match my outfit!"

Kurt looked seriously annoyed, "First of all, when I saw your hair I hadn't even bought those pants yet. And second, Blaine, really think about it, what's the worst thing that could happen if you take that damn hat off?"

Blaine looked at him, like this was so obvious, "_Kurt!_" He shouted, very loud, enough so the kids within the hallway of the school started to stare. "Are you _kidding _me? Not only would I be laughed of the planet Earth, but you'd leave me for one of the dogs that look like a mop because it has less hair then I do!"

"If you hate it _that much,_" Kurt screamed, "Get a damn haircut!"

_Whoa. Our first fight is about hair gel? This is pretty awesome. _Kurt thought, trying not to smile, which would only cause more excitement from Blaine. If excitement was the right word. It was more like a chaotic rant.

"You mean shave my head? That's the only way I can get rid of this freaking bird's nest on the top of my head!"

Kurt leaned back, looking offended for Blaine's curls that couldn't fight for themselves, "Stop swearing at your poor curls! Did it ever occur to you they hate you just as much as you hate them?"

Blaine had the urge to push Kurt right into the wall, "I will swear at my curls if I feel the need! They're my damn curls! Not to mention they _don't have feelings!_"

That's when Kurt did it. Blaine probably thought he did it due to rage, but that was far from the case. He just _really _wanted to see those curls. A couple of the kids who'd gathered around to watch started to burst out laughing at this, like Blaine's life was just some bad sitcom.

Kurt ripped that hat right off Blaine's head.

Well, not really off Blaine's head. Blaine was still holding it down with that death grip. Kurt had a good advantage, being an inch taller then him, but Blaine was extremely persistent not to let that hat leave his head. Both of their stubbornness working against each other just caused a couple more seams to break, but neither of them noticed.

"Mr. Hummel!" A voice higher then the invincible Rachel Berry screamed, clapping her hands to catch their attention. The boys that had stopped to watch ran off as Kurt's hands flew from Blaine's hat to behind his back, and he stood strait, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"Yes, uh, ma'am?" Kurt stuttered, not even knowing her name. She was old and had probably never heard of the words "wrinkle cream" in her life, and Kurt recognized her from the cursed algebra. Blaine relaxed a little, but his grip on his hat (now with visible holes near where his hands where ever so determinedly holding on) didn't change. He looked, still, like an awful lot of idiot with that hat, no offense to Blaine.

"Must I send you to the front office where you can talk about our rules here at Dalton? Our no harassment policy? I understand your new here, Mr. Hummel, but it is common sense not to be harassing your inseparable friend here, from the information I've gathered." She said, her voice so strict and high pitched it was like knives to his ears. She said "inseparable friend" with no real knowing that both Blaine and Kurt where gay, she seemed awfully clueless.

"No Professor Scamman," Blaine explained, sounding a little to fancy knowing her acctual name, "We where just... uh... playing?"

She fiddled with her fingernails, the sudden awkwardness effected even the ancient teacher. _Nice one, Blaine. "Playing?" That's the best you could think of? _

"Well, you boys can, ehem, _play, _on your own time. Please behave yourselves, this is your first and only warning." She said, "And Mr. Anderson, I'll be taking that hat. It seems to be a distraction and hats our against our dress code here at Dalton, I'm sure you know that."

Blaine gulped. Disobeying a teacher would get him suspended for sure. Suspension or eternal embarrassment? College or friends? Well paying-job or social life?

This was hard.

Blaine, defeated, pulled the hat off and scrunched it in a ball before putting it in the old woman's outstretched hand. Was it sheer coincidence Blaine's list of most hated people shifted drastically at that moment? She smiled, ever so smug, "I see your wearing your hair natural today."

And when she strutted ever so proudly down that hallway, Blaine knew she knew why he came to school today with that hat on.

Blaine was forced to watch Kurt's eye go wide in shock, his jaw become dislocated from his skull. It was a sad moment in Blaine Anderson's life.

Well, a sad moment for a second anyway.

Kurt couldn't help it. He reached up to Blaine's hair and ran his hand through it. Blaine raised his eyebrow questioningly at Kurt, but he almost laughed after a second.

"Oh. My. God. Blaine Anderson. Your hair. Is so. _Fluffy._" He whispered.

Blaine smiled. "Your kidding?"

Kurt rattled on, "Oh, Blaine, it's beautiful. I'm personally going to CVS and burning every hair product they have there. This is wonderful, _I love it._"

Blaine looked a little big-headed right then, maybe due to the shock that Kurt didn't think his hair was to be compared to something in the 70's. He was hesitant for a minute, making sure Kurt actually liked it, but after a minute or so of Kurt rattling off about how much he hated hair gel and Kurt's hand in Blaine's hair, he just smiled and said, his back a little straighter, "Why, thank you."

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**100 reviews!** I want to give you all hugs but I don't know you!

But hey. Just because you got Blaine hair doesn't mean your allowed to stop reviewing from here on. Believe me, stuff is going to go down, and you are going to want to hit my characters more then you already do. I love you all threaten to hit my characters! It's awesome! ... Just don't hit me. Please.

_**REVIEW!** _I used italics and bold. I know you want too...


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, CVS, Skittles, Coke, or any of the four billion things I mentioned in this story that Disney owns.

Read with caution. Don't kill me. That's all I ask.

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A stack of Disney movies and the product of raiding CVS of their candy products in Blaine's bedroom with both Kurt and Blaine lounging on an over-sized beanbag from the basement.

What could _possibly _go wrong?

Well, no cliches intended, Blaine was thinking that very same thing while he was one inch away from Kurt on that neon green beanbag, literally dumping Skittles into his mouth. When the beans started to shift so Kurt fell right into Blaine's shoulder, he just smiled and put his arm around Kurt. But that smile- it was a sort of confused smile that Blaine only stuck on his face because Kurt was looking up at Blaine from where he was almost lying down, snuggled into Blaine's chest, and he was smiling like this was the best thing that had ever happened to him, so Blaine had to at least try. But when he tried, and failed miserably, his eyes where still glued to the tiny television screen he had _also _taken from his basement stashed with goodies, so maybe Kurt didn't notice.

Aladdin wasn't the most romantic movie of all time, or even of all Disney time. As much as Blaine loved Beauty and the Beast with every fiber of his being, he couldn't shove that disk in the DVD player of fear that the second all those songs Blaine had memorized by heart would play, he'd _have _to sing along, because those where _his _songs- _his. _Well, not literally, of course. He hadn't sent in the lyrics of a song to Disney and they used it, but when Blaine was little, he was convinced Disney had made Beauty and the Beast for _him, _and that he owned those songs. Of course, by the time of nine he began to realize that the kids (well, girls) at school like that movie just as much as he did, and they were all convinced that they were Belle, and on Halloween, almost all of them that weren't Cinderella, were Belle, and Blaine wanted to be Beast, but that year his father put him in a pumpkin costume for the hundredth time and told him to appreciate he got a costume at all. None of those girls really stuck with Belle once they learned the art of pop music and the boys _behind _the pop music that always had over dramatic hair and too-tight jeans, so maybe it really was still sort of his, in a way. But even though Beauty and the Beast was his, Aladdin was safer.

Aladdin doesn't lead to real-life romance, but Blaine singing beautiful Disney songs from Beauty and the Beast does, and real-life romance would mean Blaine stuttering and locking himself in the bathroom, and Kurt raising a questioning eyebrow while Blaine tells him from the safety of his claustrophobic towel closet that he has suddenly become very ill and that Kurt needed to leave right then so he wouldn't catch the deadly disease that Blaine had just come across.

Because one word was echoing in his head, and that word was complete with David's voice and everything.

_Puppy love. _

Blaine should really be smacked in the face for this- but the cutest boy he just put his arm around, the boy who was madly in love with him, the boy who had pronounced that they became boyfriends in a crowded coffee shop, Blaine may or may not be leading on.

Puppy love sounded so terrible. Blaine wished his memories or puppy love weren't filled with bad Valentine's day decorations or his early obsession with (the fictional?) Peter Pan with who he was convinced would come into his window with Tinkerbell and take him away to Never Land where there wasn't any teasing, because, yes, even when he was seven kids sort of hated him. They didn't call him a homo or a fag, it was more like, "You such_ girl _Blaine-essa!" When your an seven years old, that hurts. A lot. Especially when you know a girl named Vanessa who's an awful jerk and likes to pour chocolate milk down your back it sounds like their comparing you to her. But on another note, Blaine had mad puppy love for Peter Pan and when his dad tried to convince him that Peter Pan was a boy and Blaine was a boy so they don't go together, Blaine just sighed and considered it forbidden love. At about eight when he discovered Beauty and the Beast everything changed: and when he was madly obsessed with Belle, his father told him it was yet again puppy love. But it wasn't a crush, it was an obsession. Peter Pan was a crush.

But anyway, Disney hopes and dreams aside, Blaine had a rather large dilemma. He was fairly certain that he was really just in puppy love with Kurt. Was Kurt feeling that same thing? That this was all puppy love? It really didn't seem so, the way his smile when he was around Blaine could light up a room. What should Blaine say? Should he say anything?

"Blaine?"

He shouldn't. But it would be so mean to lead Kurt on like that. Plus, what if he dumped Kurt and he ended up dying alone and Kurt ran off with some movie star? Well, that was selfish. If Kurt was going to run away with a movie star, so be it, that's good for Kurt. But what would Blaine do? Cats. Cats. _Cats. Oh- God no, please. _

"Blaine?"

Blaine couldn't do cats. Or live in an old house knee deep in cat hair- or knee deep in cats. No- that wouldn't happen. Because Blaine would be a famous singer when he gets out of college in a couple years and every guy in the entire world is going to be at Blaine's doorstep, begging for his love. But then it would be the same thing all over, puppy love.

"God! Blaine Anderson!" Kurt yelled.

"What? Who died?" Blaine screamed. It was supposed to be a joke. Kurt didn't quite get it or understand it judging from his face.

Kurt, from where he was standing in front of him, leaned over and explained like Blaine was five, "The movies over, your in la-la land and you split your Coke all over me. I was wondering where the paper towels are at because I didn't think I'd need to bring a Tide stick here, but I guess I was wrong."

Blaine got up, looking around nervously, "Uh, towels!" He yelled, pointing to the door in the far corner of the room, "Bathroom!"

Kurt raised an eyebrow at his excitement over the towels, but walked over to the bathroom, Coke soaking threw his jeans. Blaine looked at the empty plastic cup in his hand that, ten minutes ago, was filled to the brim with Coke. Skittles where also in the mix of split Coke all over the beanbag. He took a quick and uneven breath before, like the idiot he was, grabbed the blanket on his bed to get rid of (or just displace) the Coke.

In a few second, a towel hit the side of his face, followed by Kurt yelling from the other side of the room, still in the bathroom, "Your really out of it today. Any reason?"

Blaine answered this by an accusing shout of, "You threw a towel at my face!"

Kurt sighed, "Yes, I did, but I meant to hit the floor, so you can clean up that mess and be able to sleep tonight without soaking yourself. Why are you acting ten years younger then you are today?"

Blaine bit his lip, "Last night I couldn't sleep?"

"Really? Because when you texted me this morning you said you slept like a baby and asked me to come over to your house. Seriously, Blaine, what's going on?"

Blaine had the urge to fall on the floor and pretend like he fainted so he could get out of this. Why, oh why, did he call Kurt this morning? Everything was just dandy this morning, of course. Then he showed up and gave Blaine rabid butterflies, causing him to _think, _causing him to become a mess. "I'm just having an off day, I promise."

And just like that, Kurt was an inch away from his face, holding it in his hands, "Blaine, please don't lie to me."

Blaine's breath stopped. He stared at Kurt, his eyes shining with sorrow and innocence. "I- I- I don't know, I-"

"Blaine," Kurt breathed, his face so close to Blaine's. "I love you."

Blaine's eyes widened, his mouth hanging open even so awkwardly. He fell backward from where he was kneeling. "I- I- uh, I-"

Kurt stared at him, his face fallen, almost expressionless. "You?" He whispered. "You what?"

He hopped up onto his feet, "Uh! Kurt! You should go! It's getting late!"

Kurt didn't say anything, even though it was two in the afternoon. He stood up, his perfect poker face, brushing his hair out of his face, and opened the door, whispering under his breath, "Oh, okay."

Blaine hated, strongly hated, how his life did stuff like that, how Blaine always ended up disappointing everyone around him. Because he had no doubts that Kurt really meant it, that random and badly timed confession.

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Once again- please don't kill me. Threaten to hit my characters all you want! **Please vent through reviews, I'd love it. No death threats though.**

There isn't much to say, this chapter kind of speaks for itself. **Please review!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: **Glee is _not _mine, and neither is Lagy Gaga or Coke or Skittles or Taylor Swift, or like, anything else.

Sorry it's taken me a while to update (two whole days!), but I've been busy with, like, my life outside of Glee. Yes, I know, that's surprising even for me. My many confusing metaphors are confusing, I know, Blaine drowning in his sorrow like a goldfish _is _poetic when you think about really hard. And yes, I did tell my sister not to let her Betta fish drown the other day before realizing how stupid that sounded.

**Reviews are so awesome I cannot express with words how much I love them!

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_Ring. _

Blaine knew he was the bad guy. The villain who shattered Kurt's fragile heart, like in every sappy romance movie. He always hated those guys/girls, they think that they can just break someone's heart and carry on with life as stuck-up as ever. Of course, Blaine wouldn't let this go by without a sincere "I forgive you," from Kurt, if that day would ever come, because Blaine was a jerk. A big, fat, ugly jerk with a hair problem and the world's biggest outcast under two inches of hair gel and a tacky uniform. He bit down on his lip from nervousness, hard, and the subtle taste of blood in his mouth didn't distract him from his outrageous fight in his head.

_Ring. _

Kurt had left only minutes ago. Blaine had sat on the bed, staring at his white socks in the puddle of Coke in the shag rug, turning brown from the syrup seeping into them and irritating his sticky toes. He'd listened, drowning slowly in his own sorrow like a goldfish, to Kurt's slow steps down the stairs, his slamming of the front door rather forcefully, and finally his car making his way out of the driveway. It was like torture, and here he was, only beckoning more trouble with his cell phone pressed to the side of his face.

_Ring. _

Why should Kurt pick up his phone? Blaine had been such a jerk, why would Kurt want to talk about it? Listen to Blaine's bad excuses and his nervous stutter. Kurt's phone had to still be right next to him, in his pocket still. He couldn't probably pick it up right now, and he was probably listening to his Lady Gaga ring tone this moment, but he still didn't pick it up. Blaine would of understood why not. Blaine was such an idiot it was probably physically painful to listen to him talk.

"Hello?"

"Hi!" Blaine yelled, a little too cheery for the circumstances, but he was shocked Kurt had actually picked up after Blaine convinced himself that day was yet to come- even though it just came. He lowered his voice an octave mid-word when he processed Kurt's voice, which was hard to do seeing how the word was one syllable. Kurt's voice had cracked, like he'd been crying, and he had breathed into the phone like he was forcing himself to speak.

"What just happened?" Kurt whispered, the bad signal increasing the melodramatic mood, unlike the sunshine leaking through Blaine's shades and the brightly colored mess of Skittles on his floor.

"Kurt," Blaine winced visibly from the, no cliches intended, pain in Kurt's voice. Kurt couldn't be dealing with puppy love. But if Blaine was dealing with puppy love, and Kurt was dealing with real love- one of them had to be right. It was puppy love or real love. Maybe Kurt was just fooling himself. Maybe Blaine was an idiot. Either one was very likely. "I'm sorry- I- I just, I just, I wasn't expecting it."

"Blaine," Kurt breathed, his breath making static in the phone, "There is distinct difference between not expecting, and not _agreeing._"

Blaine felt the Skittles in his stomach threaten to come back up at Kurt's theatrical wisdom fit for a horror movie, the red dye number forty burning the back of Blaine's throat. Why was he so easy to read? Why did _his _flaw of being a naive idiot account for the pain of other people?

"I- I- Kurt- I-" Blaine stuttered.

"Blaine," Kurt whispered, thankful Blaine couldn't see the tears rolling down his cheeks, "Wes told me about David's conspiracy the other day. Is it true?"

"Kurt, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, it's just, I-" Blaine started, pleading for forgiveness like his life really was becoming one of those romance movies that made Blaine walk away from it, crying his eyes out.

"_Blaine,_" Kurt interrupted, his voice full of tears, "Is David right? Your only dating me because I'm here?" His voice slowly got louder and louder, a little more threatening, "You know, Wes said it sounded about right and I told him to screw off, but maybe I was wrong and he was right. _Maybe _you really are a jerk who's only intention in romance is to make sure your not bored and single? That didn't sound like you, Blaine, but maybe I shouldn't judge a book by it's cover. Blaine, I really thought you where better then this." Kurt took a deep breath, his voice calming down a little bit, before whispering, "I guess I was wrong."

Blaine, defeated but defensive, spoke into the phone with less expression then Lady Gaga's poker face, "Kurt, your so, your really, a lot, really nice, and, well, I mean, everything I had with you was a fantasy and I-"

"Fantasy?" Kurt hissed, "What about the Lima Bean last week, Blaine? When I proposed my love for you? Was that a fantasy? When you where looking at me like I was everything, _like you loved me?_"

"Kurt, well, that was-"

"That boy you where laughing with at Breadsticks?" Kurt yelled, "Remember him? You cried in to his shoulder, told him all your secrets? That was me, Blaine! That was real! Or was that just me? Am I the naive one? I _thought _you meant it. But once again, I've been fooled by your damn false signals!"

Blaine didn't want to admit to himself that he was holding back tears. He took a long breath, trying to delay the words to come, "Kurt?"

"What?" He choked, tears soaking his face.

"Are you still driving?"

"Yes."

"Can you pull over? You sound really distracted... and I... don't want you to get hurt." Blaine breathed, and he meant every word of it. This was really just a bad movie, wasn't it? His life was just some sappy movie for some higher power who was currently laughing at Blaine's idiotic demeanor that always screwed up everything.

"No, I'll do what I want, thank you very much." Kurt said, trying to sound fierce but failing with little shudder from trying not to fall into hysterics.

Blaine swallowed down his sigh, "Okay."

"So," Kurt whispered, "Is what David said true? Is it puppy love?"

"I-" Blaine stuttered, at a loss for words, almost thinking this was the end of it for a tiny second only to be snapped back in reality, "Your wonderful, Kurt, your so nice and I-"

"Blaine," Kurt interrupted, "Yes. Or. No."

"Well, I-"

"_Blaine,_" Kurt hissed under the river of tears springing back up, "Yes or no."

Blaine stopped, thinking for a moment. The pain of what seemed more likely to be the truth set in, and slowly, shamefully, hanging his head in shame, he said that one word that he'd said just a week ago in a crowded coffee shop. Not even a week ago. And then, it was a good word. A happy word. It was full of pride, happiness, and now it was the complete opposite by all means.

"Yes."

Kurt couldn't say anything more. He didn't want to hear Blaine go on and on and apologize, either. There was only silence on both ends of the phone for a minute before Kurt gave up and snapped the phone shut, throwing it on the car floor. Kurt held his breath for a minute, like suffocating himself might fix everything, or at least stop him from crying, but no such luck. The hysterics made their way up his throat without any say from Kurt, and suddenly, he was sobbing, no ear splitting Taylor Swift music or the pitter-patter of rain to help him relax, just the sound of his own uneven breaths and the floods emitting from his eyes.

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**Review! **I apologize for any ridiculously obvious spelling/grammar mistakes, I'm having an off day. So tell me whatcha think!

(I can't help but say this but I know 'whatcha' isn't a word, and there was a little red line under it so I clicked on it to see what the suggestions are and I'm amazed to find 'whatchamacallit' is in my dictionary! Awesome-sauce!)


	23. Chapter 23

I apologize for my depressing humor story. I fail at life, I understand. But it's not romance without a horrific breakup, right! Okay, so maybe I'm wrong, but a plots a plot.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee or Aeropostale and I think I said the rest of the other stuff in other chapters, so lawyers can't get mad at me for my laziness.

Whoa! Disclaimer in the middle? Today is crazy! But it is April fools- or at least April fools in America, sorry for any confusion you people-who-don't-follow-the-same-time-as-I-do-ers! But it's a huge snow day on the first day of April. It makes me a little stir crazy and my spring fever cannot go on when there is two feet of snow outside my window that had been accumulating since four a.m.! Uhhggg. So that's your excuse for this depressing chapter. My terrible lack-of-Spring depression.

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"Dad," Kurt moaned, pulling the thin black sheets over his head, "Please, _go away._"

Burt ignored him completely, sitting on Kurt's bed with the expensive memory foam. His designated spot on Kurt's queen sized bed turned out to be on top of Kurt's feet, due to Kurt probably being as spread out as possible. Kurt protested with another loud moan, pulling his feet out from under his father so he was curled up into a tiny ball, a vast contrast to the position he was in only seconds ago. Burt, attempting to be soothing, put his hand on Kurt's back, which turned out to be Kurt's thigh. He didn't notice, and Kurt just dismissed his father's natural awkwardness.

"Kurt, what's the matter?" Burt asked, cringing at Kurt's uncomfortable moans and his blanket clad, hidden body as he turned around so he was facing the wall opposed to, say, the other wall with his vanity and posters for various Broadway shows.

"Dad, really, get out. I'm not wearing any pants." Kurt whined, his mouth muffled by the huge pillow in front of it. Kurt refused to let Burt see his eyes, or so it seemed. Burt got it, though. Kurt wanted him out, and eye contact either scares someone off or keeps them there. Burt was literally immune to awkwardness. Granted, he was often the main cause of it, but after living with a openly gay boy and a standard teenage boy with strong relationship problems, you get used to it.

Burt rubbed Kurt's back a little harder, as if to say, "Your not getting rid of me that easy." But instead, when he spoke, one of his attempts at a joke came out at one of the worst moments possible, "Kurt, your covered in blankets, calm down, and besides, I'm your dad. When you were little, I changed your diapers all the time, and you potty trained late!"

When Kurt didn't even bother to laugh, or even roll his eyes in a sarcastic manner, Burt really understood how bad it was. Kurt's response was simple as moaning louder and curling into a tighter ball then before. A blanket that was over his head fell off, and Burt caught a glimpse of Kurt's hair, disheveled. That wasn't normal, not even at night, when he wet down his hair and laid in exactly the right place so nothing could fall out of place.

"Kurt, please tell me what's wrong. I got home with Carole a couple minutes ago and Finn said you stormed in a couple hours ago and have been down here since. I'm worried, bud."

Kurt hated when his dad called him "bud," it reminded him of that entire depressing John Mellencamp stage. Kurt groaned, "Dad, I'm just... sick. I must of ate something."

"Whatcha eat? Well, actually, where were you just at?" Burt asked, buying it. He was so easy to fool- that, or he didn't want to deal with any madly depressed son right now.

"Bla-" Kurt started, before choking on the words in his throat, like his body didn't want to hear it as much as his mind didn't. "A friend's house. We ate... a lot of sweets."

Kurt's mentally willing Burt out of the room was miserably failing. One would of sworn Burt was completely oblivious to his son's discomfort. "Which friend?" Burt asked, painfully innocent.

"Bu-ba-line." Kurt mumbled, his voice muffled by him purposely shoving his face in his pillow. Kurt shuddered for a second, and Burt figured he was sick, dealing with a random cold spell, whereas Kurt was fighting hysterics, biting his tongue.

"Blaine?" Burt guessed from the incoherent 'b' sounds emitting from Kurt's pillow. "Oh God. What did the boy do now?" Burt laughed. _Laughed. _Because he thought Blaine was just shoving countless calories down his throat at a fun trip to his house. Fat chance.

"We had, uh, a lot of Skittles. And Coke." Kurt said, his face still deep into his pillow.

"Huh. Have you taken any Tylenol?" Burt asked. God, Kurt hadn't even eaten any Skittles. He wasn't an idiot, he wasn't going to let all those carbs and all that fat just go strait to his hips. Not that he had any one to impress anymore.

"Yes," Kurt said, sitting up, trying to get rid of his dad as soon as possible, "At his house."

"Alright. You need anything?"

Kurt started to say something sweet and that would end this conversation perfectly, like, _I just need some sleep, dad, I love you, _blah, blah, blah, but not only was Kurt's sincere look terrible, but his idiocy always got to him at the worst moments, like right then, when Burt was ready to go out the door before he saw Kurt's shirt. All hopes of him just leaving him alone vanished, just like that.

"Kurt," Burt said, sitting back down on Kurt's bed from where he was standing, getting ready to leave, "I'm smarter then that. Your wearing your mother's shirt."

Kurt fell back down on his bed, defeated. He pulled the blankets back up over his head, feeling his eyes start to become moist again. It was his mom's old nightshirt, brown with little dark green stripes varying in size. It was a fashion disaster, huge, big on even Kurt, no doubt on his mom when she used to wear it. It probably was used as a nightgown, then. He'd found it a couple years ago in the back of his dad's closet and by no means was a he reluctant to take it. His father probably caught him in it for the first time the night he got thrown of the monkey bars in fifth grade by some jerk in his fancy Aeropostale sweatshirts like he thought he was all that. After Burt got a call from some uninterested teacher, he found Kurt crying in the towel closet with that shirt that had fallen below his knees at the time. After multiple Karofsky incidents through middle and high school, Kurt always ended back up in this shirt, and as time progressed, he was caught in it less and less, not that he didn't wear it any less. Burt didn't stop caring, he just stopped noticing until it came up to him and slapped him in the face, what with Karofsky death threat from what seemed like a million years ago. Kurt was convinced it still held little pieces of his mom, like her lavender perfume that had faded in the ten years she'd been gone. It couldn't be there anymore, it was probably his imagination, but imagining is better then nothing, right?

"What's the real matter this time?" Burt asked, hands crossed defensively over his chest like he was mad or something. But he wasn't mad. He was just bad at showing the general 'sad' feeling.

"Nothing, dad."

"Nothing?" Burt yelled, "Nothing? Kurt I'm sick of _nothing, _because I know it's not nothing. Tell me what's wrong or I'm going to have to get Carole to come help me with this."

Kurt was tempted to just spit, _fine!, _but Carole and Burt surrounding him, interrogating him about this, sounding like the awkwardness levels would probably spike madly. Instead, he took his face out of his pillow, facing the opposite wall from his dad, and whispered, "Dad, it's just pointless drama. You wouldn't care."

Burt sounded offended by that, shouting, "Kurt! When did I not care?"

Kurt regretted bringing it up at all. "Never mind," he hissed, "It's not important."

Burt took a second to clam down before he sat back down on Kurt's bed, pulling a blanket down from over his head and started to run his hand though Kurt's messy hair. "Kurt, _you _are important, so whatever is making you this upset is important, okay?"

"I- I don't want to talk-"

"It was that Blaine boy, wasn't it?" Burt accused, but his voice was still consoling. "I thought I gave that boy enough of a warning."

Kurt pretended like he didn't hear that last part, and swallowed what felt like acid in his throat. Kurt sat up so he was at the same level with his father, but he was silent. He couldn't make any words come out, if he even knew what he was going to say.

"Was it?" Burt repeated, even though the answer was obvious on Kurt's face.

Kurt couldn't do it any longer. Why was he so stupid he couldn't even protect his dad form an awkward conversation? Why was he so stupid he couldn't even impress Blaine? Why was he so damn _stupid_?

He closed his eyes, so tight it was almost painful, and nodded shamefully. He shuddered, holding back more hysterics, his lip quivering.

"Kurt, what did he do?" Burt said, halfway between overprotective dad mode and comforting dad mode.

"He- he-" Kurt stuttered, hissing from the tears he was trying to hold back but they started leaking from his eyes anyway. "I told him I loved him." Kurt whispered. There was a long silence on Burt's part, looking confused, not knowing what to say, so Kurt answered his question.

"And he didn't love me back."

Burt's mouth was open, but he didn't say anything because he didn't have the slightest clue what to do. He looked at Kurt for a minute, his sea eyes sparkling from the tears, his brown hair falling over his wet, red cheeks. He wanted to say something, really. But he couldn't, so Kurt just fell into his arms and started sobbing without a direct invitation. Burt rubbed his sons back that was covered by his first wife's nightshirt.

In between violent sobs, Kurt manged to fit in a, "I love you, Daddy, I love you."

Burt pulled him into a suffocating hug and whispered, "I love you too, Kurt."

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So yeah. That's my chapter! **Review! **Like, really, please review. It's only ten and I have nothing to do today. Ten reviews would be like... heaven. On any day, really. So that's my bad excuse. **So just try to help my Spring-deprived depression by reviewing!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, I don't own Glee or really anything at all.

Whoa. Words. Craziness. Awesomeness? **Review.**

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Sane people don't have these kind of dreams. It's just a fact. Not that Blaine was sane or anything.

It wasn't really a bad dream or a nightmare. No clowns. No walking around in his underwear. No Freddy Kruger. No evil snakes by the name of Voldemort trying to kill friend's father. But it wasn't a good dream, either. There was a distinct lack of rainbows, unicorns, and chocolate for it to be classified as that. It was a Kurt dream. Blaine's only feelings for Kurt at the moment was confusion, as much of a cliche that was. Blaine had been using a lot of cliches lately. That's a sign of a unhealthy dose of chick-flick.

Maybe his subconscious was trying to tell him something about Kurt. Dreams where all meaningful, right? That, or Blaine needed to to cut down on the Skittles because that chemistry project was really getting to his head. Whatever the case, it was wierd enough to pay attention too.

The first thing Blaine could remember was the nonfat medium mocha on Kurt's lips. It was weird, though, because Kurt never ordered a nonfat medium mocha before. It didn't even _look _like a nonfat medium mocha. The coffee (is a mocha considered coffee?) was dark black, in contrast with Kurt's porcelain skin, as thick as paint. Blaine didn't even remember Kurt actually saying anything about a nonfat medium mocha in the dream, but he was dead confident it was.

But aside from that nonfat medium mocha, it was Kurt that was highlighted. He was so unfairly beautiful. Not that he wasn't always, but there was this aura about him in this dream that emphasized every flawless feature on Kurt's face.

It was his eyes, mostly, that caught his attention. The long, fluttering eyelashes that draped his eyes; those magnificent sea eyes, piercing blue with that leafy green rim that lightly tinted the rest of his eye beautifully. Kurt's head was down, but he stared at Blaine through his eyelashes in a ridiculously seductive way, but it still made him seem naive and sweet. Kurt's skin was so light, as though it was made that way to emphasize the color of his eyes, the pink of his lips, and the faint blush of the rim of his cheekbones. It wasn't chalky or pale, just light, with small hints of color here and there. His skin looked so soft, so perfect, so smooth, it took everything Blaine had not to reach out and stroke his delicate cheek with the back of his hand, brush the shiny strand of brown hair from where it was falling in front of his face. Then his lips, the full rosy pink he saw traces of in his cheeks, perfectly sculpted like some angel had crafted Kurt just for Blaine's torment. It was so attractive, the way he pursed his glossy, soft lips, the way he licked his lips clear of any liquids before taking his next long sip of the steaming substance in front of him.

He wanted to kiss Kurt, painfully bad. It was like he was purposely alluring him with his little ticks, how he licked his lips, looked at him so deeply through the curtain of eyelashes in front of his eyes. But it was all a dream. And in dreams, you can act up without anybody ever knowing. So he could do it, right?

And with that thought, he was doing it. He stood up, his chair that should of screeched in protest behind him silent, leaned over, and grabbed Kurt's face in his hand, savoring his smooth skin against his hard hands, rough from playing guitar over the years. He climbed up onto the table that should of collapsed under his weight, leaning over the innocent boy beneath him, and pulled his face to his. It was all a dream. No consequences. No regrets. Just a dream.

No one in the crowded shop stared, if even noticed, like they would in real life. His imaginary Kurt didn't move, paralyzed under the Blaine forcing his face to his.

It was like that for a while, a couple minutes, probably hours in the real life. Blaine, in his dream state, aware he was dreaming but couldn't wake up, pulled away slowly, looking for a reaction from this figment of his overactive imagination.

He fell into hysterics.

Not the good, laughing hysterics, by any means. His sobs were delicate, gentle, like some unrealistic cry you only see in the movies from the sappy pretty girl, but uncontrolled. Blaine looked at him, breathing slowly, watching Kurt, kneeling on top of the table.

"You don't love me!" He screamed, shrill, his hands in his face. It was so unlike the real Kurt who hid his feelings behind bars when it got serious. "Your just like Karofsky! I'm just your experiment!"

Blaine breathed, a long breath out, no emotions read on his face. This imaginary Kurt was comparing him to Karofsky? God, he was like Karofsky. Using Kurt because Kurt was there. Not caring about Kurt's feelings. But he did care about Kurt's feelings, he really did! He was just bad at showing it.

The shop was empty now. A soft of ominous silence filled the room, only breaking with Kurt's tears and uneven breaths. He didn't say anything, because there really was no point in trying to comfort a dream, right?

"All _you _care about are Skittles and hair gel. God, Blaine! Did it ever occur to you that you damn hair gel makes you look like a freaking idiot?" He screamed, slamming his coffee on the table, "Why don't you go run off and fall in love with some Disney character? That's what you really care about, right? _Your fantasies? _Your fantasies you too naive to realize are _real? _Blaine, have you ever noticed that just because you love a person for no good reason doesn't make it puppy love? In fact, that's why it _isn't_ puppy love!"

Blaine gulped.

"You damn, evil creature! I hate you!" Kurt screamed, standing up, looking more intimidating then Kurt Hummel should look.

Was Blaine's subconscious being a little unrealistic? Or did Kurt really hate him that much? He'd hate to think he did. Like, really hate that. Enough to go crawl into a pit and waste away.

Blaine was still, continuing to remain silent and unmoving on top of the table. And that's where the worst part happened. Blaine died.

Why did Blaine have neutral feeling towards being repeatedly stabbed in the neck, receiving a painful and brutal death of being injected with a plastic fork by Kurt? Maybe he wasn't sane. Maye the Skittles really where getting to him. Maybe his hair gel was leaking toxic chemicals into his ears. Or maybe Blaine felt like Kurt had the right to murder him with a plastic fork, even if it was in a dream. In fact, preferably in a dream because Blaine was only seventeen and still had a good seventy years to live. But Blaine was a jerk, and an idiot, because as much as he hated to admit it, he was just as attracted to imaginary Kurt as he was real life Kurt.

He didn't wake up immediately after his murder. Funny, he was lucky to wake up from his murder at all. Most people don't.

There was a dreamless sleep until nine a.m., at which he woke to find (coincidentally?) the zipper of his pillowcase wedged painfully into his neck. That happened a fair amount of times before, but this was the first time it killed him.

He didn't wake up panting, or shot up in fear like in the movies. Nor did his eyes gently flutter open like Kurt's would, or at least that possessed, evil, imaginary Kurt in his dream. But he did look like real Kurt, that was for sure. It was more like his eyes opened for a moment, processing the light coming in from his bedroom windows, his alarm clock lit up with '9:38.' Then, after removing all pointy metal objects out of contact with his skin, he decided he was still tired and lamely closed his eyes, turning over, pulling blankets with him before he did that entire shoot-up-dramatically-like-it's-the-end-of-the-world bit and remembered his dream. Of course, the effect was sort of ruined when he fell out of his bed, a two feet drop to the floor (curse his mother's liking for high bed frames), pulling his blankets with him until he was lying on the floor in his boxers, cringing and rubbing the back of his head from where he hit it on the floor.

For a moment, he was ready to go run across town, do something stupid, and seem like he was off to save the world. Of course, running across town in his boxers was stupid enough alone. But after falling out of a bed, one realizes that your goal was a little unrealistic. Somehow a good knock to the head does that to a person.

Blaine knew what he had to do, being the geek he was. He grabbed his laptop from his desk, sat down on his bed, not bothering to do something remotely sane like putting pants on, or a shirt. Sure, he was freezing and he had goosebumps all over his arms, but it wasn't like that was important right then.

He typed away at his laptop, until he under some promising looking website. In the tiny search engine in the top, the first thing he wrote was "coffee."

For some reason, he was attached to that mysterious coffee in his dream. Oddly attached. So it was a good place to start, right?

_To dream you are having coffee with someone is an indication that you may have feelings for this person. _

Blaine stared at his glowing screen, a little freaked out, and moved on. That was just a coincidence, of course.

Slowly, pounding away at the keys with one hand as if to delay his answer, he typed "fork" into the search box. He skipped all that kissing crap, because that very well spoke for itself, in an odd resemblance for the dream meaning of coffee.

_To dream you are stabbed with a fork indicates you are being picky with the ideas represented to you. _

The weirdest part was that there was a good section on that page for being stabbed with a fork. Did many people have dreams about being stabbed with a fork? Maybe he wasn't the only crazy one. But the second weirdest part was that there was an idea represented to him in that dream. That idea was that Blaine was an idiot, which was of course, always true, but then, there was Kurt telling him that it wasn't puppy love. That it was no puppy love at all.

At last, hitting one key per minute, he typed "murder" into the search box, ever so innocent and purple-y.

_To dream you are being murdered suggests that some important or significant relationship has been severed. You are trying to disconnect yourself from you emotions. Try not to ignore or be afraid of your feelings. _

Blaine was still, his eyes glued to that last sentence.

Who was he kidding? Obviously not the Internet. He was a jerk, an idiot, and he was madly in love with Kurt Hummel. Now, why couldn't of he realized this yesterday?

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Yay! An acctaul (ehem, bad attempt of) (somewhat of a) humor(esly unhumorly) chapter! Woop! And yes, that stuff in the perenthases is evil Kurt talking. God, I love evil Kurt. I should write a story about evil Kurt- **who runs around murdering people with plastic forks!**

So, first of all, all of the dream meanings are real, so if you ever have a dream about having coffee with someone, being stabbed with a fork, or being murdered, now you know where to look! And also, oddly enough, I wrote the dream out in my notebook this morning exactly as it was, and _then _had the idea to look up meanings. I figured I'd have to modify _something, _but it worked out perfectly! Maybe I am secretly in leage with Blaine's metophorical subconcouis. I feel awufully smart.

And sorry the authors note isn't spell checked. You'll have to live with it, because my normal spell check is broken and this things spell check is broken so I had to acctully- _gah_- use the dictionary. It took me an hour, and it was even an Internet dictionary.

So yay! _**Reeee-vveeeeiw!**_


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: **Glee, Chapstick, and IPod. Three things I _don't _own.

Woop! A chapter!

You can tell I'm wide awake when that's the best A/N I can think of.

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His hand was shaking, running up to his shoulder, causing his entire body to quiver. The worst part was that the coffee clutched in his left hand was decaf.

His fingers drummed on the table in front of him to the beat of the blaring Florence and The Machine emitting from his ear buds. He bit his lip that tasted like cherries from his Chapstick, and felt the urge to slam his head onto the table.

"Blaine, I'm glad we could have a family day," his mother said, completely oblivious to Blaine's ear buds. The noise was just barely audible under the music, but he muted the IPod in his pocket and whispered, "Yeah."

Blaine didn't agree. Not only did he hate this, but the only thing that could somehow make this a family day was that they where all together in the same place, and actually all sitting at the same table, which could be considered a miracle. They where at some breakfast place. Granted, it was twelve in the afternoon and Blaine was drinking coffee and waiting for pancakes, and that was so much starch at such a bad time, Kurt would certainly disapprove.

Kurt. _Oh, God, Kurt. _He needed to see Kurt, do _something, _but instead he was stuck in a booth between his mother and a tacky yellow wall the same color of his bathroom. His father was on the other side, his face hidden by a newspaper he'd smuggled from a trash can outside the building.

Blaine's mom was trying, really trying, but with her gay son and her homophobic husband, she could only dream that someday she might actually have their family reach a title that wasn't 'dysfunctional and depressing.' After Blaine's... _incident _last year with his _negative thinking, _nothing was near okay. Sure, that at least influenced her husband enough to stop putting the word 'gay' before every word used to describe Blaine. _His gay sports with his gay friends at their gay houses... _etcetera. But they didn't speak. She spoke with both Henry and Blaine, and she told Blaine Henry's thoughts, and she told Henry Blaine's thoughts. For once, she just wanted them close enough so they were forced to speak. But so far, it wasn't going magnificently well.

"So, uh, Blaine," She started, her voice ever cheery, "How's school?"

Blaine stirred his coffee around with a straw, looking down at it, and before he could say a subtle 'nothing much, really,' his father cut in, dropping his paper. "Marissa, did you know our son has a boyfriend? He was at our house the other day, alone with Blaine, watching ga- bad fashion shows."

Oh, yay. Not only did they get to talk about the only thing Blaine _didn't _want to talk about with his father, especially now, but he got to hear about his gay fashion shows. God! He wasn't even _watching _it. His father was such a _jerk- _jerk being the best word he could put in that sentence without swearing. Or maybe: his father was such a _ignorant narcissist. _

"What?" She said, perking up, much to Blaine's father's disappointment, "Blaine! You didn't tell me that! Who is he?"

Blaine choked on his words for moment, before whispering into his coffee, "It was, uh, that boy I was talking about, Kurt. We, uh, well, I screwed up and it's kind of, well, over now..."

Marissa squeezed her sons shoulder, giving him a halfhearted smile, saying, "I'm sorry, hun," immediately before Henry asked, sounding almost genuinely interested, "How did you screw up?"

Blaine felt a pang of annoyance towards his father, annoyance being a nicer word for hatred. "I don't know, _dad_," Blaine spat, "I just did."

Of course, he knew why and how he screwed up. But that wasn't his father's business. It was really like playing games with his father- his father was the antagonizing little sibling he never had. His father's life goal was to make his life as miserable as possible. Blaine was just trying to overcome it. Both of their fights against each other just resulted in this big, everlasting circle of being infuriated with one another, Blaine's mom stuck in the middle of all this.

"As to be expected, Blaine, you screw everything up." He said coolly, shaking his head in shame and picking his newspaper back up.

Blaine stared at his father, like maybe he could have inherited the physically painful laser vision his father hand, the way he could burn holes in the back of anyone's neck. Under the table, he fiddled with his plastic ear buds, rubbing them together from habit. His mom looked a little shocked, but not angry. They usually tried to hide this behavior from her, but it wasn't to be unexpected. She knew very well that getting them on speaking terms would result in something like this, she just didn't want to admit until it was too late.

"Dad," Blaine hissed, hating the sound of 'dad' on his tongue, like this man was almost supposed to be a loving parental figure, "You have no idea. How. Much. That _hurts. _Can you just be my father, just for today? Then we can go back to hating each other?"

He looked up from his newspaper, a thick eyebrow raising, emphasizing the deep wrinkles on his face. "Are you saying I'm not your father, Blaine? Because I am. I'm your birth father, the reason _your _alive, must I remind you. Not to mention, boy, that _my_ inheritance from my mother is keeping _you _at Dalton where your not getting bullied for the life of you. I could be spending that money on something worthwhile, but no, instead I'm being the selfless man I am and sacrificing everything for you, Blaine."

Blaine swallowed, both the rage and the tears. Why did he always have to point out his accomplishments? This had nothing to do with his wealth, his 'generosity,' or his significant importance. This was about his father being just as bad as the bullies at his old school.

"I just need... you... to accept the fact that, no matter how much you'll hate me for it, like you already do, I'm gay. None of your insults will ever change that, no matter how bad they hurt. So could you stop trying, for me?" Blaine whispered, attempting to look his dad in the eye, but once again his head was tilted in such a way it was impossible to have a conversation that was worth something with him.

"Do you know what?" He hissed, almost shouting in the crowded restaurant, "Marrissa, we should of just had a daughter. I refuse to call that boy my son if he's going to prance around doing every damn explicit thing I told him not to do. At least if we had a daughter, she'd be rebellious and _straight. _Better then rebellious and _gay, _I'm sure."

Blaine stared at the side of his father's head, expressionless. The way he made perfect eye contact with his mom made him jealous, if not angry that he refused to make eye contact with just him.

"Henry," She whispered, tears welling up in her eyes, "Don't you think this is a little much?"

Blaine shook his head, "No, mom, he's right, you should of had a daughter. Because I'm such a _worthless fag _you might as well had a disgrace of a daughter. You know, a slut who you never see because she's out at the club all night? Sounds a lot better then a gay son who's trying to be perfect for you. Because, you know, that has the word _gay _in it."

"Worthless fag? Wow, Blaine. You took the words right out of my mouth." He said, raising an eyebrow in mock amazement.

"Thanks, dad. I love you, too." Blaine hissed, his voice dripping sarcasm.

He looked outraged with that. Did that mean he didn't love him? Wasn't there some kind of parental instinct to love your child? Maybe when your an ignorant narcissist, like the one here, you don't inherit this instinct. "Marissa, get out of that booth so I can get Blaine. We need to have a talk."

Blaine's mother, helplessly, slid out of the booth and watched Blaine get out. Henry then grabbed Blaine by his shoulder, steering him towards the bathroom in the back. He opened the door to the men's room and pushed him in.

Blaine's father locked the door to the bathroom, while Blaine stood, expressionless still. Then he walked over to Blaine, jabbing his pointer finger into his neck, which turned out to be extremely painful on Blaine's part.

"Blaine, don't you _dare _mouth at me in front of your mother. Understand?" He shouted, but the people outside couldn't hear him, being all they could hear in here was the clatter of glass and people shouting orders back and forth.

"Understood." Blaine whispered, trying to remove his father's finger from his throat by pulling back, which ultimately failed, with his father having him pressed to a wall, defenseless.

"I _will _beat the damn gay right out of you, boy." He hissed.

Blaine looked in his father's eyes for the first time in a long time. He wished he hadn't gotten his shortness from his mom, because his father looked so intimidating a good inch taller then him. "Is that a threat or a promise?" Blaine breathed, his sarcastic tone ruined by his father's finger in his neck.

His father looked at him, his face full of rage he wasn't quite used too. "A promise," he almost growled, his teeth grounded.

There was a good five seconds of a stare-off, Henry trying to intimidate him, Blaine trying to look innocent enough to pass his father's standards.

And then his father hit him.

It was to be expected, of course, after all this. Blaine's uncontrollable urge to resort to sarcasm in a crisis didn't help him, obviously, it just led to his father's annoyance which led to this. It wasn't too bad, just a slap to the face, no violent punching in the stomach or anything. He was lucky, right? No blood. His cheek was probably bright red and the only damage was some significant pain and the last shred of their relationship severed.

There where no words after, Blaine's father just walked out, slamming the door behind him, while Blaine stayed a few seconds longer, nursing his cheek. He walked out slowly, reaching the table where his father was already sitting. It was all just a process, a few meaningless and expressionless steps, _walk, sit, question, respond, eat, think, _that was, until he could escape and get to Kurt.

"Honey, what's the matter?" His mom whispered, clueless, looking at her son nurse his cheek, playing with the pancakes on his plate he'd just drowned in syrup.

"Oh, uh," Blaine whispered, looking up at his father, who just gave him a sort of threatening look, "I, uh, bit the inside of my cheek."

She looked back down at her food, trying to stick a fake smile on her face, and said, "Okay."

Of course, she knew better, but she didn't want to admit that possibility quite yet.

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**Review? Please? In fact, I'll make it a statement. Review. **

**Review or Evil Kurt will murder you with a plastic fork in your sleep! Waahaha!  
**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee. I do own glee. But with no capital, it's not copyrighted because it's an adjective! Bwha! Take that lawyers. And I don't own Lucky Charms (I do own lucky charms!) and I don't own Youtube (I do own you, tube!)

Okay, so I only own a lucky charm, no plural, and I don't own a tube. I do own a straw, does that count as a tube?

Okay, short chapter. But if I added the other parts it would be long and you'd have to wait longer. So hopefully you can live with this. I can't say it's fantastical, either, seeing as how I wrote this at five am.

* * *

"The number you have requested is currently unavailable. Please try again or leave a message after the beep." An automated, "female" voice said. It was followed by the impending beep and left Blaine, for the sixth time of hearing this in ten minutes, once again shocked by the robot's manners and vast vocabulary.

Blaine sighed, hanging up again. He brought another handful of Lucky Charms to his mouth from the box, already spilling over his bed, in which he was sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the bed. He was ashamed to admit to himself the most technical term he could come up for the way he was sitting was a phrase he hadn't heard since kindergarten. But he was having a crisis, and what better way to deal with a crisis then to pretend like your a kindergartener and nosh on breakfast cereal at four in the afternoon.

Blaine stared at his cheap pay-as-you-go phone courtesy of his mother from Christmas when he was twelve. He was no doubt costing himself millions, but he couldn't help himself when he dialed Kurt's number again. Was having his number memorized by heart stalker-ish? It wasn't like he'd purposely memorized it, he'd just dialed that number so many times it got stuck in his head.

_Ring. _

One, two, three, four long and painful rings later, the automated voice repeated itself, ending with a another beep. He had to say something. Something inside him seriously doubted that Kurt was busy- he just was ignoring him.

"Kurt, I need to talk to you, bad." Blaine pleaded. "Please call me. Please. Call me."

He breathed into the phone for a good extra ten seconds before deciding that was enough said, and hung up. Maybe, by some miracle, Kurt would listen to it and call him back. That didn't seem too likely, but he might as well try.

He fell back on his bed, holding his phone tight to his chest. It was an extremely dramatic move, movie worthy, in fact, fit for the sappy love story also known as his life. He used to consider it a sitcom, but after being slapped by his dad he decided he probably deserved more sympathy then that. Maybe there was just a hefty dose of insanity tied in with his love story. Well, it wasn't as much of a love story as teen drama. It followed the basic pattern:

Boy meets girl (or boy, in this case.) They get together. They break up. And then there's the happy ending, right?

Except there are always a select few where there isn't a happy ending, say, Romeo and Juliet. Hate to spoil the ending but- _they die. _Blaine nor Kurt planned on dying anytime soon, of course, but accidents happen, especially for entertainment! Blaine was sure some higher power _was _watching his life as if it was a TV show. Whatever genre it was would determine his ending- or at least his end with Kurt, which, hopefully wouldn't end up with Kurt going ballistic and stabbing Blaine in the neck with a plastic fork (again.)

The thing with his pattern, though, is that he wasn't the one in this story everyone liked. Kurt was- what with his innocence and lack-of-idiocy, unlike Blaine, likable. _Blaine_ was the one who broke up with _Kurt. _Which made Blaine the enemy. He didn't suspect to getting killed off- his story wasn't _that _dramatic. But he did suspect that Kurt would run away with some other boy that was actually _taller _them him and run off in the sunset. He'd forget about Blaine. And Blaine would be left to a lovely life with a large amount of cats. Was that as bad as being dead? Honestly, Blaine would rather be dead then have most of his relationships with cats who only love him back for feeding them.

Whoever was writing his life had some problems to be worked out, that was for sure.

Suddenly, breaking him from his trance, the object on his chest vibrated, and after a few seconds his brain registered his phone vibrating. For a good ten seconds, he was elated, that was, until he picked up his cheap phone and saw the text lit up on the tiny screen.

_I can't. _

His contacts clearly said this was from Kurt. Blaine took a moment to remember what he'd said in his message: ultimately,_ call me. _So Kurt couldn't? Why did that sound so ominous?

Well, the evidence clearly stated that Kurt was just ignoring him, but he was actually there, so being the stubborn boy he was, he completely ignored what Kurt had just said and once again picked up his phone and dialed his number.

Kurt, as to be expected, ignored him until he came back to the automated voice.

He texted back, his fingers thumbing the tiny keyboard, unrealistically small for fast texting if you didn't have skinny long fingers, which Blaine had the opposite of. Blaine _could _text, but not fast, nor very good.

_Wy not? i nedd to tlak to yu_

Blaine sent the message, ashamed with his grammar and atrocious typing skills, but he couldn't do much about it, he was (attempting to be) so fast. He always thought it looked stupid, but he know understood why there was such thing as 'texting language.'

Nothing happened for a good ten minutes which involved a lot of stress-induced pacing on Blaine's part. He _had_ to talk to Kurt. Blaine Andersen wasn't always a very ambitious person when it came to Sunday afternoons when all he wanted to do was watch Youtube videos and sulk about life, but it wasn't as though he had a choice. As wonderful as sulking sounded right now, he knew very well it wasn't the smartest option.

Blaine was sure this would lead to something such as a restraining order or worse, but he had no other choice. How bad was Kurt? Was he like those dumpees in the sappy love story movies: thus, is he in a depressed heap of his own sorrow?

He grabbed his coat of the rack in a superhero kind of way. Holding it over his head, he walked out into the pouring rain with some black Old Navy coat that was quickly becoming soaked through and dripping onto Blaine's hair. Secretly, he was sort of happy it was raining and sad at the same time. He happy he could get away with something over dramatic for once (he did have an odd living for theatricality), yet, he was upset due to the fact this only further proved his life was some bad drama movie, which meant he didn't have much of a choice. He opened his car door, digging for the keys in his jeans pocket and backed out.

And off to Kurt's house he went.

* * *

So, it doesn't seem like I'll be able to update too frequently in the next week or so, due to play rehearsals. (Winnie the Pooh! Eek! I play Owl.)

**Review! Review! Reviiieeeeeeww!  
**


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: **Glee isn't mine. Nor is Gap. But I'm pretty sure you guessed that already.

Directions: Read. Enjoy. **Review. **Aftermath: Me smiling.

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Kurt had been warned, once, a long time ago, that Blaine Andersen was no good at romance. Facts are simply facts. Maybe, way back when, when Kurt was head over heels for Blaine, it was very hard to believe, what with his 'dreamy' serenade to Jeremiah at a crowded Gap. He really should of done that to Kurt- he would of probably ran up to him and kiss him in the middle of that overpriced outlet, you know, _appreciated _it. But it was too easy to see now: when Blaine Andersen warns you, you ought to listen, and Kurt ignored that rule, and now look where he's at.

Blaine hit the doorbell, slowly and painfully dramatic. He made a point of only touching it with one finger, like he was disgusted by it, whereas he just didn't want to touch it. Quickly after pressing it, he shoved his hands in his pockets, putting his head down so the pouring rain would get his hair opposed to his eyes. He'd had bad experiences with things in his eyes. He was still, facing the drab gray front door, restricting himself to look anywhere else. The faint sound of bells echoed inside the house under the constant drip of the gutter overflowing with water.

The door flung open, leaving behind it a rage-stricken Burt, a mad contrast to the fatherly figure who picked him up from some shabby McDonald's a million years ago. He was expecting this, though. It wasn't like he expected this man to be happy with the fact he'd just shattered his sons heart into tiny bite-sized pieces. Nor did he expect rationality or anything that by any means could be considered pleasant. Blaine understood, of course, he'd be off punching the faces of children in if it came to him having a son some day who got heartbroken, though, chances stood that this figment would be female, and punching children was often looked down on, not to mention illegal. Hopefully this man could put his homicidal rage aside for long enough that Blaine could stutter some kind of illegible explanation.

"You," He hissed, rather calmly considering the circumstances. Maybe Kurt was really okay, and Blaine was being a bubble headed jerk thinking otherwise. Honestly, it didn't sound very realistic that anyone would be crying over him, unless it was some kind of predicament that he shoved in their face opposed to the acctual momentarily loss of him. But aside from Blaine's possible snobbish behavior, that tone of voice he'd just heard was fit for death threats, but he managed to hold back any knives he was hiding behind he back.

Or plastic forks.

"What the hell did you do my son?" He hissed again, the same tone in his voice. He looked a little to intimidating for Blaine's taste, not that he had much taste at all for intimidating. This man looked like he was ready to reach out and snap Blaine's neck.

Blaine leaned back, wishing once again he never inherited this shortness from his mother. It made him feel so vulnerable, along with the fact that Blaine would probably lose a fight with a dead goldfish, let alone a forty year old man with a good thirty pound advantage over him.

Blaine sucked in a cold, moist breath that tasted like Oust, making him want to cough that breath back up. He was gradually becoming more and more soaked as his soggy coat gained weight from the water clinging to it as it hung heavily over his shoulders. He wished he'd gotten something thicker, because he was freezing and he was beginning to feel the water give him goosebumps at it dripped down his back.

"I- I screwed up, Mr. Hummel, I apologize, and I need to do that to Kurt but he won't pick up his phone." Blaine whispered, sounding much more important sounding then he expected. Finally! Dapper Blaine was making a comeback, and just in time, too.

He squinted his eyes so he any melting hair gel threatening to get in his eyes stayed out of the general area of his tear ducts. He crossed his hands tightly across his chest as though this might somehow protect him from the cold.

"Hell, yeah you screwed up!" He yelled, comfortable inside his dry house. Was it just Blaine being paranoid, or did he hear some of his father in that tone? It couldn't be. It did sound like something his dad would say, especially on his insult steak he'd been going on for the past few days, but Burt wasn't his dad. Burt was overprotective, and there was a distinct difference between being overprotective and being a plain narcissist who doesn't care about his own son. "My boy won't get out of bed, ever since you did whatever on Saturday, he won't tell me. All he'll eat is the damn crackers I shove down his God forbidden throat! He's watched Carole's version of 'When Sally Met Harry' for the hundredth time in the past twenty four hours!"

Blaine looked at his shoes through squinted eyes, not bothering to correct Kurt's father with the fact it was 'When _Harry _Met _Sally_', not the other way around. He regretted remembering his own promise that they could be like 'When Harry Met Sally.' By this point, it wasn't working out to well- they didn't have to deal with teenage hormones, Blaine's idiocy, or Blaine's natural proneness to disaster, thus, this mess.

"I'm sorry." Blaine whispered to his feet, "Could I maybe talk to him?"

Burt gave Blaine that sort of implied, _"Are you kidding me? Of course not!", _but instead, he continued to glare at him and hiss, "He's busy."

Of _course _he's busy, he'd _just _said he was terribly busy watching movies and being buried under blankets, and seeing how productive that was, Blaine shouldn't continue to pester Burt after something as _logical _as that. It was hard not to let that sarcasm come out through Blaine's own mouth.

A woman, the same woman who opened the door last time he was here, walked up behind Kurt's father, probably drawn by the yelling on Burt's part. She grabbed Burt's shoulder, not taking her eyes off the soaking wet Blaine just outside her door. "Burt, who's this?" She whispered, despite Blaine could hear her perfectly fine under the rain.

He whispered something back through clenched teeth that Blaine couldn't quite make out. He assumed this woman was Carole, from the information he'd gathered from Kurt, and how she was comfortable so close to him they where obviously related somehow, say, married.

After Burt was finished talking, or hissing would be a better word, Carole pulled Blaine into the house with no warning and no consult to Burt. "You have to talk to him, oh, he's so upset. Blaine, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Blaine said, half agreeing to the plan she was plotting out, and half reassuring her that his name was Blaine. Burt seemed defenseless against his wife's decision, he just backed away into the oblivion known as his living room. Blaine suspected it was anger radiating off this man as he backed out of the bright kitchen. Anger with him. Love for his child. A difficult mix.

Carole was acting like she was preparing him for war, not a trip into a boy's room. Before Blaine could object, she was unbuttoning his soaked jacket, rattling on with her supposed pep talk, "You seem like a nice boy, Blaine, you do. I don't know what you did or what you plan to do, but if you leave this house and Kurt's happy, I'm happy."

Blaine stood still and straight, thanking God this woman was about his height opposed to yet another person taller then him to bring him down. Carole pulled off his wet jacket, slinging it over her shoulder before pushing him towards the general direction of Kurt's room as she followed.

"He'll talk, but he won't carry on a conversation. He won't eat anything, either." Carole said, stopping outside a door he figured was Kurt's room after a trip down the stairs. He wondered if Kurt could hear them through this closed door, hideously ominous in every way. "I love him too much for him to have to go through this drama. Make him happy, 'kay?"

"'Kay," Blaine whispered, opening Kurt's door.

He didn't care much about Kurt's room, he'd seen it before. What did catch his eye, though, was the boy with the abnormally bright pink face (either due to crying or lack of face makeup, the answer was unclear) who was leaning off his bed so only his lower half remained on it, his head dangling off the bed, eyes glued to the TV across the room humming some kind of illegible noise. His hair, unlike always, fell every which way. A thin blue blanket was over him, and he was wearing some huge brown shirt to accompany his acrobats off the side of the bed.

He didn't turn his head around before he asked, hoarsely, "Dad?"

Blaine pursed his lips, saying in the most normal voice he could manage, "Nope."

Kurt's head spun around in a way that strangely reminded Blaine of an owl's neck. But once he realized he couldn't turn his head around all the way without snapping his neck, he pulled himself up to he was sitting on the bed and when he saw him, his jaw dropped, but not in a very good way.

"Dammit! God, Blaine! Could you take a freaking subtle hint? I don't want to talk to you!" Kurt yelled, slamming a fist in his bed. "And my damn hair is a mess and I haven't moisturized since yesterday morning! I don't want to hear it, Blaine!"

Blaine was a little taken a back by this boy's rage. "Burt said your so depressed you can't stomach a cracker and you won't watch anything but, uh, yeah." Blaine said, not wanting to bring up the nightmare of 'When Harry Met Sally,' so he cut himself off awkwardly. He wasn't even sure where that came from. A conversation topper? A bad one, surely.

"I'm not depressed!" Kurt screamed, before quieting and looking down on the bed, "I just don't feel like it."

Blaine sighed, "That's called being depressed."

Kurt dismissed Blaine's logic, looking over at him. "So, what do you need you say that was so important you had to disrupt my peaceful Sunday?" He had been pulling a blanket up over him slowly, but no it was over his head so Blaine couldn't see his unkempt hair, that, in all honesty, was unbelievably attractive, the way those tiny brown locks fell in his eyes.

Blaine walked over so he was closer to Kurt until he was close enough to touch they boy in front of him, and he was tempted to hold his hand, but it would have ruined the moment if he had unlatched it from where it was clenched to the pillow.

"What?" Kurt repeated, looking anxious, pulling the blanket harder over his head, his eyes wide as though Blaine was going to kill him or something.

Blaine looked at his shoes for a moment before looking at he boy who was sitting cross-legged on his own bed, innocently looking up at Blaine from where he sunk into the mattress. His great big eyes with the huge eyelashes that matched his personality was all it took for his confidence to strike, and he said it, no stuttering or anything.

"Kurt, I love you."

* * *

Cliff hangers. I love them. I know you don't, but hey, supermegaawesome(foxyhot except it's not foxy hot) climax party time leads to reviews. Hopefully. They better.

I discovered A Very Potter Musical yesterday. I feel so special, knowing all these secret references I never knew about...

So I've found myself threatening people I'll send Evil Kurt after them. They don't even watch Glee, let alone my story. It makes me seem like a confusing geek, but I don't mind. I though I'd share that with you.

I love you guys to death. But I'm going to be greedy and ask for **more reviews **anyway. **Evil Kurt will get you if you don't review! He just got a new pack of shiny, dull plastic forks!**


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: **Glee is not mine not _not. _**(Double-double negatives for the win!)**

Long wait, huge cliff hanger. I understand I'm evil.

I honestly can't decide whether I like this chapter or not. All I know is that if you look real hard, you can find something deep in here.** Review!**

* * *

Kurt wasn't pleasantly surprised.

He was, though, surprised, but certainly not pleasantly. Blaine couldn't quite describe the feeling that appeared on Kurt's face right then, but if he knew anything at all it was that he wasn't near happy with him. His eyes were wide, still, and Blaine was afraid they'd fall right out of their sockets. Those pink lips of his weren't pressed together, but his teeth were grinding in a way possibly more threatening then Kurt's father's stance he'd seen just moments ago. Images flashed in Blaine's fragile mind, all of them including Kurt in an ominous, red-light, empty room stabbing him repeatedly with plastic silverware. He nearly shuddered.

"Delayed response much?" He whispered fiercely, pulling his hand away from where Blaine was ready to grab it.

"I- _Kurt,_" Blaine pleaded, shocked by the last answer he had expected. No sentimental _"I love you, too!" _moment in which Kurt threw his arms around Blaine's neck. Of course not, that would be to easy, right?

"Unexpected. God, Blaine, _extremely _unexpected." Kurt said, taken aback, shaking his head. Blaine wasn't talking to the same Kurt he wasn't talking to yesterday morning, calmly pondering over Disney movies and whatnot. The difference was simple: this boy wasn't madly in love with him.

Words couldn't describe how bad this was.

"I-" Blaine stuttered, trying to start some kind of legible rant but failing, Kurt cutting him off.

"Blaine, you don't have to feel bad for me enough to make up comforting lies," Kurt sighed, "For one thing, my parents are over reacting. I'm not in some depressed state. I'll admit, I wasn't puking rainbows last night, and I'm still a little upset now, but you know what I realized? Someday my prince will come, and even if it sounds like I'm quoting Cinderella, it's true. I mean, if your not my prince, to bad, so sad, you _were _awfully handsome. Maybe you where right, though."

Kurt went on, giving a Blaine a halfhearted attempt at a smile and a shrug.

"Puppy love. I guess, maybe I was convinced I love you due to your teen heartthrob good looks and astonishing talent. It seems to be that you were right. I should be happy we cut it off when we did. Otherwise, we'd only put it off longer until I really wasn't able to come to my senses. So, I mean, everything happens for a reason. This can just be a lesson learned. We're not right for each other. But I'd love to still be friends, right?" Kurt asked, completely, heartbreakingly rational.

Blaine was going to die. Right there, right then, Blaine was going to die.

After a few seconds of Blaine's silence, Kurt continued. "I know your just saying this because you feel bad for me. I understand, but a warmhearted apology and a request to be friends still should work fine. Everything _should_ be fine. I was really being ridiculous, not picking up my phone. I was trying to put off speaking with you, but I think my speech is going fairly well. I didn't even want to admit this entire situation to myself, let alone you, so talking didn't seem like a very fun thing to do. But I've admitted it Blaine, and I'm fine. I'm over you. Every teenager had to deal with all this crap. No offense to you, but I guess you just happened to be my crap. Okay, do you know what? Pretend I never said that. Your not my crap. Your not even crap at all. Ah! I suck at talking, see?" Kurt moaned, falling onto his back on his bed. "You. Are. _Not. _Crap. I'm sorry."

Blaine watched him, not nearly offended, but rather amazed by how good Kurt was convincing him that he was fine. He should write speeches or something. In comparison to Blaine's speaking skills, this boy was like the God of Poetry or something.

"I guess you should be honored to be my teenage drama highlight. 'Cause someday, I'll be telling my kids valuable lessons I learned from you. I mean- well, you know, that still sounded kind of mean. Sorry, again." Kurt smiled apologetically, staring at his ceiling.

_His _children? Not _their _children, of course. All hopes of Blaine's secret dreams of adopting little red heads with auburn eyes and dimples, destroyed. God, Blaine was such an idiot. You do not fantasize about your children with a _crush. _Why, oh why, could he of not realized this yesterday?

Kurt still had this halfhearted smile glued on his face, waiting for a reaction from Blaine that wasn't the hang-your-mouth-open-and-look-like-your-true-inner-idiot look. Blaine didn't have another reaction, though, which was falling backwards onto the floor where he would sprawl out, screaming at the top of his lungs. Of course, he held this reaction in.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm trying to make jokes and it's not quite working for me." Kurt said, biting his lip. "I'm a little nervous. Thus, I keep tripping over words. This is why I didn't try talking to you on the phone."

Blaine stood frozen in front of Kurt for a moment, still taking in all the words he'd said. After a few longs seconds, immediately before Kurt was ready to shoo him out, Blaine began to stutter again. "Kurt, I- I don't feel bad- well, no! I mean, I _do _feel bad, but, I mean, I'm not doing this for that reason- well, I mean, well- uh..."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, interrupting Blaine's nonsensical rant, "So you mean what you said?"

Blaine actually jumped up, pointing at Kurt's face, shouting, "Yes!" in excitement.

Kurt sat up from where he was laying on the bed with his arms spread out, looking confused, "I thought it was puppy love?"

"It was- well, no- it never was. I was..." Blaine stopped to think about it, searching for the right word, "Being stupid."

"So," Kurt whispered, not looking mad, but actually curious, possibly as to whether Blaine was kidding him or mentally ill, "You expect me, after all that, to fall right back in your arms because you were being an idiot? Who's to say you won't end up being stupid again, better yet, who's to say your really not just being stupid right now? Whatever the case, Blaine, you do realize that just yesterday you told me every affectionate feeling you felt for me was fake, right? How am I supposed to believe you after that?" He maintained a stable, calm tone throughout it all, and Blaine would of figured that extremely hard to do.

"I- I- yuuhhhhh..." Blaine muttered, looking at his shoes, cursing Kurt for being blessed with the sanity he was restricted of. But he made a point. It wasn't fair, how some witch from a story book possessed him with the worst romantic skills the world had ever seen. Not only did he turn out gay, but he was terrible at acting on it. He wasn't even a _stereotype! _He was so normally normal it was hard to look at.

"You've come into my house and confessed your love to me, all immediately after telling me I wasn't meant for you. Is it just me, or is that a little weird? I've never been in a relationship before, but something about that seems just a little odd. I don't suspect it was your evil twin talking to me yesterday, but I do suspect you have some feelings I suggest talking about with a counselor or something. Perhaps your mom? I don't know, but you need some kind of help I can't offer you." Kurt said, not realizing that Blaine was finally showing visible signs of hurt on his face.

'Kurt," Blaine pleaded, his hands by his sides like a nine year old in a school play, "I'm just an idiot. Possibly an idiot with mental problems as you just implied. But please,_ please._ I am just an idiot who needs another chance to prove to you I'm not all that bad, I just screwed up."

Kurt was rather confused: he'd never heard anyone bluntly confess themselves as an idiot, let alone when they were still trying to convince you that you should love them. It had begun to seem like Blaine had self-esteem issues, but not ever did it seem like it was to this extent. He couldn't say a full sentence without tripping over his words and his dialogue could of been the same as a two year old begging for candy. Kurt found him hard to talk to like this.

"Blaine, I'm not going to object to that, but still. I don't find that a good enough excuse at the moment. I don't need excuses. I don't know why you have this thought stuck in your head, Blaine, but I'm not going into some relationship with someone who can't even make up their mind as to whether your feelings are real or not." Kurt said, his voice slowly raising in volume until he was probably officially yelling to what could be considered a dull roar.

"But, but I _have _made up my mind, Kurt!" Blaine protested, his eyes pleading. As bad as he was showing it, he was holding back tears. The fight he was putting up with Kurt was only obviously irrational and silly on Blaine's part, and he knew it.

"And you thought you'd made up your mind yesterday, right?" Kurt shouted. Still, he didn't seem mad, though. Reading Kurt was rather confusing sometimes, when he wasn't an open book.

Blaine gulped, "Well, no! I wasn't sure. I- I just needed some time to think and next thing I know your getting mad at me on the phone when I'm trying to apologize! But then, God, Kurt, I had this dream, and, and you killed me with a plastic fork!" Blaine rambled, his eyes wide, nodding in agreement with himself. It wasn't impossibly hard to tell Blaine desperately needed to switch to decaf.

Kurt looked at him like he was truly insane, "I killed who? With what?"

"You killed me! With a plastic fork!" Blaine yelled, excited, like this was explaining it all.

"Okay, okay, uh, and this was a dream?" Kurt asked.

"Yes," Blaine clarified, his head bobbing up and down like a proud little toddler.

"And how does this, by any means, have anything to do with you changing your mind about me?"

Blaine looked at Kurt's bed questioningly for a moment before deciding it would be okay to invite himself to sit on it. He did so, and Kurt didn't question it, he was to busy worrying about Blaine's well-being.

"Okay, so I had this dream and when I looked it up on the Internet, it said that the coffee meant I had feelings for you, the fork meant I was a picky, snotty idiot, and then being murdered meant that I had severed a relationship I needed to fix. You can't fight with freaky stuff like that, right? When I started thinking about, I realized it was right, that I did need it to fix stuff with you. This was last night, and I was going to talk to you right away but my mom made me go to lunch and- uh- yeah-" Blaine had ranted, his voice lowering when it came to his mom, he put his head down. He didn't want to think about, let alone tell Kurt about, how his father had slapped him. That stuff could be worked out later.

"So a creepy dream influenced you about your feelings?" Kurt whispered.

"Uh-huh." Blaine said, nodding again.

Kurt mashed his face up, thinking, before he said anything, "You know, your subconscious is important and everything, but I think you need to think this over a little longer. Honestly, I need to, too. Because the past three hours I've spent convincing myself your not the one for me, and I don't think that thought is going to flip around. Especially now that it sounds about right. Blaine, look, I love you. But I don't know whether as a friend or something more. I don't want our friendship that's handing by a thin thread to break, so just think it over. I'm going to take the same advice. We can talk at school tomorrow, okay? Not about this, though. You can have a thousand dreams about me murdering you, Blaine, but if your heart is saying something else it doesn't even matter, right? Think about it. Tomorrow, I am not to hear a word about this, and we are going to act as if this never happened. If after a little while, it turns out we're both still madly in love with each other, we can try again, alright? Now leave. It's getting late, and knowing you, you still need to get your weekend homework done."

Blaine stared at him, getting up, amazed by how painfully right everything he'd just said was. As he got up from the bed, sharing their designated goodbyes, words echoed in Blaine's head.

_You can have a thousand dreams about me murdering you, Blaine, but if your heart is saying something else it doesn't even matter, right? _

He was going to have dreams about Kurt tonight, and murder would not be involved. Heartache, on the other hand, would be a large portion of his dreams. Because his heart knew what he wanted. His head was the one that was torn.

* * *

I apologize for any obvious grammatical errors. I'm half asleep. I can't even say I successfully skimmed over this.

So, anyway, this chapter is for my new Glee pajama pants. I'm in love with them. Granted, they say 'Super Gleek' opposed to, say, 'Klaine Forever', so, I mean, there's always room for improvement.

All you who were banishing me from coolness after _just _discovering A Very Potter Musical: I must admit it took me a good moment of confusion to figure out what 'AVMP' stood for... I fail at being a nerd, I know, I know.

So yeah! Tell me how you like it! **Thus, review. I'm going to continue to threaten to send Evil Kurt after if you don't review **(aside from Secrets of The Fall who... wants Evil Kurt? Confusing, but okay) **because it's working amazingly. I'm glad you all feel so threatened by my characters!**


	29. Chapter 29

This chapter is dedicated to all fellow Nerdfighters. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you have some Youtubing to do.

So this is a little... different. I don't know if anybody will like it or hate it or what. This is why you should... bum bum baa... **review!**

* * *

"Blaine?" Wes asked, putting a hand on his shoulder as he walked with Blaine through the crowded Dalton corridor on their way to Warbler's practice. "You alright?"

Blaine moaned, brushing his hand off his uniform clad shoulder. He pushed his rather stunning, bright pink glasses up on his face with a finger so the huge thing wouldn't slide off as he turned his head to the Wes standing beside him. "Of course I'm fine. Why would you think anything else?"

Wes gave him an _are-you-freaking-kidding-me? _look while Blaine tried to look offended, failing miserably. He didn't have enough energy to give it a good try.

"Well, for starters you haven't taken those glasses off all day and you've been carrying around an empty coffee cup for two hours now." Wes said, glaring at the cup clutched in Blaine's hand.

"How do you know it's empty?" Blaine said defensively, holding the cup to his chest like Wes had just offended the inanimate object.

Wes groaned, ripping the Styrofoam cup out of Blaine's hands with a distinct lack of effort to pull back on Blaine's part. He tore the plastic top off and tipped the cup upside-down, only to find nothing to come out. "That's how."

Blaine puckered his lip unconsciously like a sad puppy dog, not objecting as the boy next to him tossed the empty cup into a trash can conveniently located across the hall. "So I'm too lazy to throw out a stupid cup, what does this prove?"

"Blaine, I pay attention too these things. You drink coffee in the morning with Kurt, believe me, it's all I ever hear," Wes said before he started mocking Blaine in a voice _far _too high pitched for it to sound like him, _"Oh, Kurt and I went to coo-fffee this morning and he asked me to be his boyyy-friendd._

"But, anyway, you and Kurt had this freaky ritual and suddenly you went to coffee by yourself at the school's cafeteria? And then you carry it around like some sacred teddy bear? Somethings up, I do beleive. I bet you won't even jump on any furniture at practice. In fact, I'm willing to make a bet you don't have enough positive energy in that short and scrawny body of yours to even sing any song that isn't by Green Day or some song about either suicide or heartbreak." Wes went on, watching Blaine stick his hands in his pants pockets because he didn't a coffee cup to clutch any longer.

"I don't jump on furniture," Blaine whispered, but Wes paid no attention to the lies.

"So, tell me, Blaine, something happened with Kurt and I'd like to know what exactly." Wes proposed, looking awfully business-like.

"Nothing," Blaine whined, dragging his feet. Wes raised an eyebrow and continued to pester him with, "Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me."

"Nothing!" Blaine shouted in protest, pushing open the doors to the room where Warbler's practice was held. "You're just too quick to come to conclusions!"

Wes shook his head, following him into the room, whispering, "Hurt words, Blaine," sarcastically. Everyone was too busy talking amongst themselves to notice Blaine's dramatic entrance, which he was thankful for due to the nasty looks he would of gotten for that one.

Wes walked off to his fellow council members, looking a little to proud every time he got up in front of everyone. He went through the normal ritual: banging his gavel on the desk, yelling for attention as he started going over possible song selections, reading lyrics in a monotone voice. Honestly, Blaine was glad they didn't have to do much actual singing or dancing (or more or less swaying), because as much as he hated to admit Wes to be right, but he didn't have near enough positive energy to do something like, say, move.

Blaine fell onto one leather couches with various Warbler's of no significant importance to him. He put his bag in his lap, and attempted to listen to Wes saying the lyrics to some song he couldn't recognize from the radio in Wes's standard lyric-reading, expressionless voice. It was sometimes funny to listen to him announce random, rhyming words in his tedious tone, but Blaine couldn't pay attention to the words with all the thoughts bouncing rapidly through his head.

He bit his lip when he unintentionally spotted the boy on the other side of the room, sitting on the floor unlike the other Warblers, his knees pulled up to his chest as he was deeply entranced in his already-perfect nails. Kurt stroked over his fingernails on one hand with the other, looking at them as though there was something terribly wrong with them. Blaine wasn't accustomed to nail care and whatnot, but he figured he'd broke a nail or something, Blaine did it all the time but with no real despair afterwords.

That boy had been avoiding Blaine, or so it seemed. Sure, it was hard to talk to someone when you only have one class together, but in that class he stayed well hidden in the far front of the room where no one dare go. The worst part was the fact that he hadn't gone to ritualized coffee with Kurt this morning, but was reduced to a lonely trip to the school's lame coffee. You'd think with the budget here they'd at least be able to afford fairly decent coffee but _no. _They had to spend their money on things like textbooks and maintaining dorms.

Anyway, straying away from the school's budget, Kurt hadn't called his this morning like always, nor had he talked to him all day. He had to be purposely avoiding Blaine. Blaine would know: when someone says they need to start over, they often take themselves a little to seriously, and weeks later when you get the guts to confront them, they'll act like they're meeting you for the first time. Blaine had some extremely crappy friends way back when at public school, all who couldn't bother to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone but a TV screen.

It was suddenly, when everyone's hand aside from Blaine, Kurt, and two other boys hand flew up, that Blaine's world ended. The moment it all happened, of course, he just jumped a little, confused, had he not listened to a word Wes had said. The words that followed, from Wes's smug face, were, "Since we like the lyrics, shall we here Blaine sing it or what?"

No one did some weird cheer thing, like they would in a normal public school, but instead nodded their heads in agreement. Blaine stood up, walking over to Wes's official podium where he sat with David and Thad by his shoulders like this was court. Both Wes and David were impossibly smug, whereas Thad looked sort of left out, like always.

When he walked up, David shoved some sheet music into Blaine's hand, and Blaine knew there had to be something very, very bad if David had something to do with it. Wes smirked, whispering, "Blaine, you have to listen in these sessions! I was waiting for your horrified expression when I was reading the lyrics, but you were so zoned out you didn't even react!"

Blaine looked down at the title of the sheet music, groaning, "You have _got _to be kidding me. Is this even a real song?"

Wes nodded, his head bopping up and down so fast you'd swear he was on a diet of Skittles. "Yes, yes! David picked it out!"

_Well, then, I'll have to kill David later, _Blaine was tempted to say. In fact, he was tempted to kill David right there and then. "This _isn't _a real song! You guys are freaking kidding me!" He shouted, the entire room listening, hopefully agreeing.

"Blaine!" Wes hissed, still smug, "No bad words! You know what freak is a _substitute _word for!"

God, that boy was more annoying then your average two year old.

Blaine groaned, rooting himself in front of the room to sing, now regretting for the first time his role as lead soloist. He could probably go off about how he had too many solos, but he doubted they'd stick with this song for longer then today, or that Wes would let him protest. How could any sane person vote on this? This must be some agreed joke on Blaine.

"Wes," He whispered, his back to him, "This is a duet. And it has a female part. We can't sing it."

Blaine regretted saying it immediately after, Wes shouting, "Kurt! Countertenor! You sing, now!"

Kurt did this thing where he blinked a couple times, his eyelashes fluttering a couple times but he looked so annoyed he could easily politely walk over and slap either Blaine or Wes in the face, whoever he felt he needed to blame for this. He walked up, standing behind Blaine so he could see the music, and immediately cringed, being it didn't seem like he had been listening, either. "You- I- I can't sing this song- I mean- this isn't a song!"

Wes shook his head, "Screw officialness, just sing it or I'm banning the both of you of solos."

Never did Blaine expect to hear those words escape the Head Council Member's mouth, 'screw officialness.' This really was the end.

Blaine held the sheet music in front of his face so his voice wasn't too loud, but in the silent room they could all make it out. Blaine regretted every word that came out of his mouth, trying to build up the courage to throw the sheet music on the ground and stomp on it.

_The hidden moon is rising over_  
_Forks Washington._  
_And suddenly you shied away from my body's warmth._  
_My muscles are hard as I can make 'em,_  
_But that's not enough for you._  
_You want me to be cold and hard_  
_Like a moving marble statue. _

Maybe this song was symbolic. Blaine always thought his relationship with Kurt was a bad romance movie, so why not Twilight? That movie was terrible.

_The only thing that you think you need._  
_Is the one thing that I can never be. _

Blaine wanted to stop and take a deep breath, but he couldn't, because he was attempting to sing this song.

_You don't love me 'cause I'm not_  
_Edward Cullen_  
_I can wear sparkly makeup and act all brave and sullen._  
_But you can't help but realize,_  
_These are golden contacts in my eyes._  
_So you think you can't be the one and only girl for me. _

Kurt paused for a minute, fully aware it was now turn for his solo. He cringed, talking the lyrics:

_Only one man can protect me from harm._  
_Plus a hundred years of investment made him richer than God._  
_For a century he saved his virginity for me._  
_And I know all about that girl you scored within 2003._

As both Kurt and Blaine looked mortified, most of the kids had started holding back laughter at 'Edward Cullen,' and were now screaming with laughter. Kurt didn't continue his solo, or at least the lyrics he was speaking with a raised eyebrow, he instead ripped the five pages held in Blaine's hands. He threw them at Wes before walking back over to where he was sitting. "I'd storm out, but I know that was just a joke and that's what your expecting from me."

Whoa. Kurt really had jerks all figured out.

Blaine shoved his hands in his pocket, walking back, trying to look like he was ferociously annoyed, but his mind was somewhere else: mostly in a land where Blaine could put craft glitter on his uniform and get Kurt. He knew it would never work, but he couldn't help but wonder.

"You guys can't even take a joke! Calm down!" David shouted. Most of the boys had stopped laughed, but Wes was throwing it full drama-queen, his face in his shoulder, snorting like there was no tomorrow. Kurt went back to being in la-la land with his nails, even though he looked kind of mad.

"We can take a joke," Blaine protested, "But that's not a joke. That's just you two being jerks and us having to put up with it."

"Whatever..." David singsonged, nudging Wes with his elbow so they could move on to bigger, more important things then teasing Kurt and Blaine.

Blaine didn't listen for the remainder of practice, and Wes didn't call him up to sing anything, even the normal songs. He was in a mad cross between being infuriated and sorry for himself. Killing both Wes and David didn't seem to sound terrible at the moment, but he was almost, deep down thankful that they had forced Kurt to stand but an inch away from him, almost breathing on his neck so he could see the sheet music in his hand. But the sad thing was that it wasn't very nice to stand so close to him when Kurt was fuming over Wes and David's annoying tendencies. Kurt hadn't been the slightest bit thankful for Blaine's presence.

Maybe Kurt would like him more if he was Edward Cullen.

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**Disclaimer: **You guessed it! Glee isn't mine. Not is Twilight and it's characters, and 'I'm Not Edward Cullen' is owned by Hank Green because I'm not cool enough to write a song like that.

Disclaimer? At the bottom? I know, I've gone insane.

I don't have much to say other then I hope you liked it. *cue cute smiley face and five year old in pink frilly dress and blond pigtails holding flowers*

**Review! I love it when you do that!**


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: **Glee is not mine and neither is Apple or Google.

Ahhrg! Sorry for long update-less long periods of time. I also apologize for any terrible anything, but my head is killing me and I don't know if that effects my writing ability or not.

Cool. Read. **Review? **

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Romance called for three things.

Jealousy. Deviousness. Manipulation.

Okay, so not always. Only when it didn't turn your head fluffier then a cotton ball and turn your heart into syrup. Desperate times called for desperate measures. So by the fourth day of Kurt passing him in the Dalton hallway, barely taking notice of him, Blaine had to take action. After consulting Google, he scrawled his plan out on notebook paper that used to be reserved for notes in class.

Number one, it was only step one, and he was already scared.

Okay, so maybe there was only one step, and the plan was to be further elaborated after step one. It was very possibly the worst plan he'd ever come up with:

_Consult Wes and David. _

Stupidest. Plan. Ever. Only to top it off by calling it _stupidest, _the most amazing word in all off Blaine's vocabulary. He was extremely tempted to title the page 'Stupidest Plan Ever' just to prove a point to himself, how pathetic he was. How stupid-est he was.

Of course, it wasn't like Wes and David were bad people to come to when it came to deviousness. But the thing with them is that they thought friends was basically someone you who's given you permission to ruin their life. For example: only a good few days ago did Wes and David both have Blaine belt 'I'm Not Edward Cullen' for all of the Warbler's. The reason as to why he still spoke to either of them was oblivious to him: it has started with real friendship years ago, and then was mostly that they were two of the three people who voted on Warbler's solos so a being a little biased never hurt anyone. Now, after David had turned into a confused, possibly homophobic, mess of teenage hormones and Wes was following in his path, Blaine didn't really have many good reasons. But he needed advice. And these two- if they decided not to ruin his life with this responsibility- were the best at trickery and whatnot.

The day that immediately followed, he wasn't quite sure how he got from point A to point B, but while in a thick trance, somehow he managed to find himself at Wes's house. It was the kind of house that made you feel bad about yourself: a long garage for three cars, huge windows that showed off some chandelier-infested dining room they probably didn't even use anyway due to privacy reasons, a garden in front of the the house bigger then a normal person's yard, and practically the entire house was covered in (most likely) artificial rocks with a color scheme to match each other. Blaine's house was big, but not show-off-ey like this. Going to Dalton itself was a sign you were in a higher economical position then the average fellow, but this was certainty a little much, especially due to how the only people who lived there was Wes, his parents, and his little sister who was the very stuck-up, pink ribbons and pigtails kind of nine-year old. Amongst the four of them, they probably each had a floor to themselves.

He'd called ahead so he didn't have to deal with the security-system and gate that walked right out of a James Bond movie. Wes was waiting at the end of his driveway, or street, eating a dry bagel in basketball shorts and a tee-shirt with a phone pressed up to his face with his shoulder. It was weird to see such a normal boy in front of such an abnormal and over-the-top house. He gave Blaine a halfhearted smile as he saw his car, chewed-up bagel in his teeth. He banged on the keypad and unlatched the gate. Blaine always got this really ominous feeling whenever he was pulling into Wes's house, like he was pulling into the Haunted Mansion from Hell even though it was practically knee-deep in daisies.

He parked his car awkwardly at the end of the long driveway, Wes running behind him, the thin IPhone only slipping out in between his cheek and his shoulder once, probably receiving minor damage. But it was okay: they probably had enough money they ate Apple products for breakfast.

Blaine walked out of the car just in time for Wes to catch up to him, throwing an arm around his neck. Blaine felt self-conscious as the small, skinny boy still manged to be two inches taller then him.

"Why, hello, Blaine-ethen," Wes said, his shoulder still awkwardly pressed to his face on the side that wasn't next to Blaine, "David is suspicious of your presence."

Blaine rolled his eyes at not only his new name, but how Wes and David were inseparable even when apart, being it had to be David he was talking to on that phone. "Why is David suspicious of my presence, exactly?"

Wes walked Blaine up to the house, his arm still wrapped around Blaine's neck, which was now getting a little uncomfortable. "David, he wants to know why your suspicious of his presence at my household," Wes said into his phone, trying to sound all secret-agent like with his fourth-grade level vocabulary words.

Wes pulled the phone away from his ear, pressing it to Blaine's, shouting, "He wants to talk to you,"

Blaine took an annoyed, sharp breath as he held the phone up to his ear and Wes retracted. He also took this opportunity to shrug Wes's hand off from around his neck, and Wes made a childish 'humph', running up to the front door of his house a few feet away, standing inside the huge door as Blaine walked much slower, saying, "Yes, David?" into the phone he held it up to his ear with an actual hand to prevent spinal injury, unlike Wes.

"What's your motive?" David said.

"Why do I have to have a motive?" Blaine said, trying to sound offended opposed to hiding the truth that David was right.

"Because," David explained, emphasizing the word, "We've been jerks and you just keep _coming back._"

"Why?" Blaine spluttered, Wes pulling him into the huge house, annoyed with his slow pace to walk the few feet, "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No, no, of course not. But I'm sure you tell your shrink about how mean we are, and he keeps suggesting you dump us, but you don't! So you must have some reason?" David continued.

Wes was dragging Blaine by the cloth on his shirt up the carpeted stairs to his room, and Blaine hesitantly followed, his mind mostly into the phone call with David.

"Okay, first off, I don't have a _shrink, _thank you very much," Blaine hissed, "And you guys are my friends! That's why!"

David sighed, his breath making static on the phone, "If it's for Warbler's solos, I'll kill you in your sleep, 'kay? Just so you know."

Blaine didn't protest against this idea, he just responded with, "Whatever," and handed the phone to Wes who was pulling Blaine up the second staircase. Blaine had been here before, so the glory of the house wasn't as overwhelming as before, but it was kind of hard not to stop and stare at the pictures on the wall of landscapes and flowers and so on, like it was a little art museum.

Wes put the phone back up to his ear, but spoke to Blaine, who was lallygagging behind him, but he seemed to be much more content about Blaine's pace when he had a phone in his hand to comfort him. "So, Blaine, what's your dilemma you spoke of in text?"

"Kurt." Blaine moaned, and Wes shook his head in shame of Blaine, saying, "I knew it, I knew, David, it's Kurt. Our song was correct. Kurt has fallen for a man with more craft glitter and vampirism then Blaine will ever have."

"No!" Blaine protested, "He didn't fall for anybody! He's better then that!"

"Yeah, just like how you were better then that when you sang a song about sex toys to that Jeremy kid," Wes said, smirking, not looking back at Blaine, who was now extremely and actually offended.

"His name was Jeremiah and song was not about- well, it wasn't really- it- okay, never mind," Blaine whispered, defeated, his cheeks deep scarlet in embarrassment as Wes threw his head back, laughing.

"Alright, so who's this guy Kurt dumped you for?" Wes said once the laughing calmed down. Finally, they reached his room, and he pulled the door open and Blaine followed him, sitting himself on Wes's dark green bedspread, taking in the huge room that could probably pass for a normal persons first floor: after the bed, there was a literal _spiral staircase _that led to a balcony over the rest of the room where a computer desktop sat, probably radiating World of Warcraft when it was on. In the huge room there was still a giant TV, a couch, and various game stations and DVD cases spread across it.

"He didn't dump me for anyone. I- I guess, well, I dumped him. But it was a mistake!" Blaine shouted, making it clear that somehow, it was all a big, innocent mistake. Wes plopped himself onto the couch across the room, kicking off his too-big, plastic black flip-flops.

Wes raised an eyebrow, "A mistake? How did that happen. And David, I'm putting you on speakerphone so feel free to butt in at anytime."

"Alright," Said the IPhone, a.k.a., David.

"It was all _David's _fault," Blaine hissed.

"What? What did I do?" The IPhone shouted defensively.

"Let him finish," Wes objected, turning to Blaine, "Elaborate."

"David would not stop pestering me about how every affectionate feeling I've ever felt is freakin' puppy love, so when Kurt freaking _told me he was in love with me, _I got all confused and told him it was puppy love, and when I realized I was wrong, it was too late and he'd gotten over me! Now he wants to start over as 'just friends' but he won't even talk to me! And, hey, _maybe _it had something to do with that damn Edward Cullen song that we're both embarrassed about?"

"Hey, sorry, man," Wes said, but the IPhone shouted at max-volume, "Come on, man! Backtrack a bit- why do you think I'm wrong?"

"David, you freaking _idiot, _I know your wrong!" Blaine yelled, Wes a little taken aback by his outrage.

"Blaine! Hurt words!" The IPhone protested, and Blaine mumbled under his breath, "So that's where Wes gets it from," but it was to quiet for neither Wes or the IPhone to pick it up.

"I-" Wes started, but the stubborn, attention-seeking IPhone cut him off, "Whatever. I'm still convinced you and Kurt's relationship is a little too convenient for it to be real. Whatever the Julia Roberts and Disney movies have melded into your brain: love is not magical. It's an instinct in the human that leads to breeding, and thus the continuation human race. Obviously your already screwed because the only kids you'll ever have are lonely with dead parents."

Wes looked down at his fingers, knowing this had already gone a little too far.

"David! God, obviously all girlfriends meant nothing if that's what you think love is. It's so much more then that! Why do you think everything has to be a human instinct, just so we'll live longer?" Blaine shouted.

"Because it's true! Look at it this way: coincidences are extremely unlikely, which is a fact. So a coincidence happening all the time? Impossible! It's all in your head, Blaine! You think God just sent Kurt to you because he was like, 'Hey, that kids a desperate, hopeless romantic! Let's give him a gay kid!' Yeah, no. God doesn't even _like _you, Blaine. Do you think if God liked the gays he'd let my sister kill herself?" The IPhone screamed.

"David, straight people kill themselves too, you know," Blaine hissed. "The bible had nothing against gay people."

Wes was silent in the midst of everything. He could swear even the phone was adding to the thick atmosphere of anger.

"Whatever, whatever, _what-freaking-ever, _Blaine. Screw you, screw 'love.' What is the big deal about 'I think that kid is real hot.' I don't understand what makes you think love is anymore then admiration over someone. That's it. No magic." The IPhone hissed.

"David, you know what? It is admiration, and it isn't magic. It's just this funny feeling that whenever Kurt's not around, I'm not Blaine, I'm just _there._ How whenever Kurt's around, I have an uncontrollable impulse to grab his hand, squeeze it, and tell him that he's the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. That every moment he speaks, or when his eyes sparkle, or his eyelashes flutter I feel like so much more of a person, like that every homophobic and every jerk that ever hurt me doesn't matter, that every insult I've ever heard is an unimportant lie. Just the thought of growing old with him, having _beautiful_, adopted babies and sharing my life with him, how just that _thought _makes me feel so indescribably happy nothing can bring me down. Of course, of _course _that's nothing." Blaine said, his voice dripping sincere sarcasm.

Wes held his breath, hanging up on David before he could speak again, before David could let lose the tears being held back in Blaine's eyes.

"Wow, man. Uh, that was deep." Wes stuttered innocently.

* * *

So Wes's house sounds a little... intense... but it's based off a friend's house so it's not _too _unrealistic.

My head hurts. Ow. **Review.** It might relieve me of my pain? Yeah, I'll go with that.

(Speaking of reviews,** I love you guys** for the numerous ones I've been getting lately!)


	31. Chapter 31

**I apologize for my lack of frequent updates, once again I must blame the fact I'm in a play with the shortest preparation time ever. **

Today's my dress rehearsal! And it's also... the end of the Glee hiatus of doom! Yay! Thank Grilled Cheesus and the flying spaghetti monster in the sky!

Also: I feel like a grammar-deficient, terrible person. I feel so stupid. No, nobody's sexuality is a narrow river. That would be really weird. Really, really weird.

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, yeah, I don't own Glee or the awesomeness that it provides me. Stop taunting me, disclaimer! I don't own Old Navy, Gap, or the economical disaster that is Wal-Mart.

* * *

"It sucks," Kurt whined, squeezing his eyes shut with a true passion to wake up from the crazy 'love' story he'd been living for the past month, "It all. Just. Sucks."

Mercedes leaned back from where she sat at the very end of her own bed, raising a questioning eyebrow at this out-of-character, unfortunately morbid Kurt in front of her. It had taken so much effort to drag him out of his house from where he had sat, glued to his vanity with an unorganized mess of cheap makeup products about him, drowning in the sorrow that was going to turn to a dangerous self-loath anytime soon without the action that was taken, and yet the only improvement he'd made was allowing himself (after furious consent from a concerned and determined Mercedes) to be dragged across town to sprawl out on top of Mercedes technicolor sheets and complain about everything even an optimist would be appalled by.

"Kurt," Mercedes said, trying to stay calm, using the best contemplative and reasonable voice she could muster at a time like this. It was hard, terribly hard, for Mercedes not to throw her hands in the air and go full-on diva to the innocent, heartbroken Kurt. She lightly touched his ankle in a somewhat comforting way, fighting the impulse to comment on his atrocious lemon socks. The boy was clearly distressed: under a somewhat suitable sweater (that sort of looked like it was the child of Old Navy and the Gap after a sickening, abusive marriage) and rather plain jeans, he was wearing practically _neon _yellow socks with black furry slip-on slippers only decent in the case you where alone in a dark house at midnight with no one in a twelve mile radius. The socks themselves would never, _ever _be acceptable, or at least with those shoes. He looked like he'd dropped his white socks in a lemonade factory. It was hideous, and Mercedes was reluctant to even touch the cursed things, even though she was trying to focus on more important matters.

"I've watched a million chick flicks in my short life," Mercedes continued, Kurt groaning, not wanting to talk about _anything, _even if he'd brought about the subject himself with his many complaints. "And in those millions of chick flicks, I cried during the first thousand, and slowly I came to realize that all those girls were pathetic, overreacting over something so _simple. _Obviously, if he broke up with you, your not meant to be, right? Last week you were ranting for hours about that over the phone about just that, what changed that made you so depressed all the sudden? Did you crash on your rush of confidence?"

Kurt sat up, unconsciously pouting. He knew Mercedes wasn't _trying_ to sound like she was making blunt insults, but, of course, everything felt like a insult. He woke up this morning to birds chirping and was confident they were cussing at him with unrepeatable, colorful words from whatever language birds speak. He thought the gray clouds were against him and he had no doubts that the coffee machine in the kitchen didn't decide to stop working upon coincidence, but instead was so horrified by Kurt's presence it refused to dispense anything but mocking, plain hot water into his cup. "I- I'm not _pathetic. _In fact, I'm torn, torn like a kindergartners art project."

Mercedes looked at Kurt like he'd finally lost it for good. His similes were often ones that left you pondering your ability to be creative.

"What has changed in the past week that had transformed you into a mangled piece of colored paper, exactly?" Mercedes asked, ready to begin beating Kurt to his senses, or more or less lecture nonviolently to his senses, about romance and the art of being a diva and what to do when these two emotions and lifestyles collided.

"Oh, Mercedes, I told you about how Blaine left me hanging after I confessed my love, but you know what he did the next day?" Kurt murmured, leaning closer to Mercedes on the bed as though this would leave to a much bigger, greater dramatic effect.

"What did he do?" Mercedes interrogated, falling into Kurt's drama head on. She was almost upset she hadn't heard about all this before, but maybe she should let him get away easy because it was a school week and forty-five minute drives back and forth to a private school that provided unholy amounts of homework, he must of been a little busy. But still. Mercedes was his best friend and best friends came before crappy school systems that were prying her precious Kurt from her fashion-clad protection.

"_Mercedes,_" Kurt whispered harshly, "He freaking came back and told me he loved me back _after _telling me it was nothing but freaking 'puppy love.'"

Mercedes suddenly leaned back, giving Kurt an diva-worthy _are-you-kidding-me _face. She hissed, "He's an idiot."

Kurt couldn't help but smile at the true Diva Mercedes in front of her, even in the midst of all this uncalled for and nonessential teen drama that was Blaine and his overactive hormones and impulses. She even wagged her finger back and forth in a stereotypical _no-he-didn't _manner that he had mostly seen from either Rhianna or nine-year old girls.

"I agree to that statement." Kurt said, beaming with the unexpected mood swing that Mercedes was hoping to get out of him."But I have a problem. A big problem."

"Is it a problem bigger then those socks?" Mercedes giggled, now figuring teasing was acceptable due to Kurt's smile. He looked annoyed, mumbling, "I had a bad morning," as though it was a good enough excuse for those monstrosities.

"Alright, alright," She said, recovering from her fashion-police mode, "What's the big problem?"

"Well," Kurt said, his eyes starting to stray to places far away from Mercedes soft eyes as he rubbed the thin rainbow splatter-paint blanket in between two fingers, ignoring the fact he had no ideas this thing hadn't strutted its way right out of the disaster known as Wal-Mart. "See, I think, well, even after all that, I _still _like him."

"And by like, you mean love." Mercedes corrected, making it sound more like a statement then a question.

Kurt gave her a little bit of a nasty look, not wanting to use that word at such a time, but agreed with a halfhearted, "Yeah, I guess.

"But- but it's just, I mean- I _can't _go back to him after all _that! _What if it happened again? What if he changed his mind already? What it- what if-" Kurt panicked, distressed as he began to rattle of but_ more_ morbid consequences.

"Kurt!" Mercedes shouting, interrupting the boy who'd suddenly grown wide eyes at the imaginary concepts he was giving himself, "Stop freaking out, I-"

Kurt had thrown himself onto the comforter, and with his face to the thick blanket, Mercedes swore she heard some kind of muffled: "I'm not Kurt. I'm Nert. I'm Nert. _I'm freaking Nert all over again!_"

"_Kurt_!" She screamed again, pulling him away from the blanket he was speaking into (probably getting saliva on, too, at Mercedes expense). "Please! Stop it! If you need me to make it happen, that boy is going to fall _head over heels _for _you, _all over again, which if I'm not mistaken, seems to have already happened!"

Kurt looked up, shaking his head back-and-forth ferociously and Mercedes was starting to seriously fear this boy had an anxiety disorder. Of course, when it came to daily slushies and bullies with no better goal in life then harassing an innocent kid, he handled it all possibly _too _well, and yet, now when the word 'love' was brought up he'd been reduced to an anxious mess of insanity. "No! No, no, no! Mercedes, he sang a- he sang a song with me and- and he got all mad at Wes and David and he didn't even, like, appreciate the fact I was practically breathing down his neck- I-"

"Whoa!" Mercedes interrupted, putting her hands up in a _stop _gesture. "Backtrack. Who's Wes and David, what was the song, why where you singing, and why the _hell _where you _breathing down his neck_ and why was he supposed to _enjoy _it?"

Okay, so maybe it had sounded much more clear in his head. Whatever.

"Wes and David," He said, taking a breath to calm himself, "Are the Head Council Members of the Warblers and Blaine's best friends, or at least Wes is, I have no idea what the problem is with David and why he still talks to him after quite a few atrocious incidents I'd rather not explain. They _made _Blaine and I sing a freaking song about _Edward Cullen, _and, and so he was standing right here," He mumbled, and began to map out the situation with his hands, taking one hand and putting it in front of him, "And I was right here so I could read the sheet music he was holding!" He put another hand behind the first one, almost touching it before he abandoned the display and flung his hands in the air, "And I mean, obviously, if he had _any _sex appeal towards me, don't you think his face would turn bright red and he'd get all sweaty and his voice would crack and be all sexually frustrated and then-"

"Kurt!" She screamed, interrupting his rants once again, "Not only do I _not _want to hear what goes on in your head after Blaine gets all sexually frustrated, but I'm afraid your kind of making this up inside your head. I love you, Kurt, and let me tell you, you are very well the sexist thing since, oh, I don't know, since the covers on Men's Health, but as sexy as you are, I don't think Blaine walks in a room and is immediately staring at your crotch. Honestly, that's the kind of relationship you don't want to be in, specifically you being you always look like your going to puke during health class and your always ranting about how they ruined the movie with a sex scene, or whatever. I mean, Blaine thinks your sexy, I'm sure of it, but do you think Blaine is sexy?"

Kurt refused to look up from his socks, biting his lip, due to the conversation getting obscenely awkward, at least for him. He didn't trust himself with actual words anymore, after just confessing all _that, _so he nodded, mumbling, "I guess," under his breath.

"Exactly. So when you see Blaine alone in a room, it isn't all 'sexual tension', is it? Because if it is, I'd be amazed, because Kurt Hummel, I know for a fact you'd rather be skipping in a rainy storm, hand in hand, opposed to being occupied with a heated make out." Mercedes explained. "I am _sure _Blaine realized you where close to him, and I have no doubts he thanked the flying spaghetti monster in the sky, but I don't think that meant he was preparing himself to jump you."

"Oh, okay." Kurt whispered.

"_But,_" Mercedes said deviously, elongating the word, and Kurt looked up hopefully as she smiled like there was no tomorrow, "That doesn't mean we can't use sex against him if your trying to get him back, because I'm positive your to stubborn to actually go up to him and disclose your feelings. Because Kurt Hummel puts up a fight before he admits anything."

"Wait," Kurt whispered, growing a little concerned, "Use... sex... against him? What?"

"Kurt," She explained, putting a hand on her shoulder, "I don't care if you have self-esteem issues or if your afraid this is going to turn into an awkward mess, I have a master plan slowly building in my head and sex appeal never hurt nobody."

_Health teachers would disagree, Mercedes, health teachers would disagree._

"Uh, master plan?" Kurt asked innocently, a little scared.

"Oh, oh, yes," Mercedes beamed, "Allow me to explain."

Kurt listened, biting his soon-to-be-hopelessly-chapped lip with a passion as he mumbled a little smug, "I think we're depriving puppy love of it's so-called innocence."

Mercedes just grinned.

* * *

Woop! Chapter! Happy face!

Okay, I'm just gonna throw it out there: not only is my mom reading this story, but it's rated T. No matter how many times the kids at school badger me ("Did you write the sex scene yet?" "No! There isn't going to be a sex scene!" "Oh. Well, there should be a sex scene." "I WILL KILL YOU ALL!"), there will NOT be a sex scene, I don't plan for infinite amounts of sexual tension. Maybe minor sexual tension for my own amusement. But no creepy sex scenes or whatever. My friends already think I'm insane, I don't need to enforce this idea.

Once again, I apologize for the abomination being my grammar. It sucks. But guess what: I'm thirteen. I bet you weren't expecting this! So, yes, this does mean I'm still learning what a _clause _is at the moment. Thankfully, I've been drowning in Schoolhouse Rock all my life, so I catch on.

Now I'm afraid your gonna stop reading my story because of my age... please don't do that. I like you people!

Speaking of my likeness towards you people: **review! They make me happy! **


	32. Chapter 32

You guessed it! **Disclaimer: **Glee = not mine. Febreze = not mine. Love towards Klaine = mine but also shared by many other people.

**Yeah. Read this. Then review? Pwease?**

* * *

The entire house smelt like burnt popcorn. And it was a big house.

Burnt popcorn was probably the most grotesque smell Blaine had ever smelt, and Blaine had a history with a skunk at a young age, so that was saying something. Wes was far to busy falling into hysterics at the black puffs he'd effectively split all over the floor to do anything about it. Blaine felt like gagging at the smell, and as he sat at the counter with his face in his hands, trying not to breathe through his nose as he complained about the smell and rambled on about Febreze.

"Wesley!" A shrill voice scolded, and Blaine looked up from his palms and attempted to pinch his nose and breathe through his mouth in the most polite and innocent manner possible.

Most of the time Blaine had verbal contact with Mrs. Rand, it was her apologizing for Wes's behavior. She seemed a little naive, like she thought Blaine or any of his other friends actually found Wes's lack of manners terrible. Sure, at least in Blaine's opinion he could go without so much plotting against him, but practically inhaling caffeine and doing pointless things was actually enjoyable sometimes. This woman was every rich woman stereotype out there, starting with her uptight and manner-infested personality and continuing with excessive makeup, jewelry, and pantsuit use. Honestly, she was pretty intimidating and Blaine almost felt like he was invading her natural habitat that Wes had dragged him into.

"Mom!" Wes shouted in between his caffeine-induced laughter, "Hi!"

She gave her son a mild death glare as she said, her voice naturally shrill, "Wesley, what is on the floor and why can I smell it from upstairs?"

Wes smiled, Blaine still in the corner of the room, awkwardly holding his nose. "It's popcorn, mum! It burnt it! Our microwave sucks!"

"I guess we'll have to buy a new one..." She sighed, oblivious to the fact it was Wes's error, not the machines. She probably didn't even care, she would probably just get some maid or something to bring a spare up from the secret electronics store downstairs, or something like that. "But why is it all over the floor?"

"It was hot!" Wes shouted innocently, "So I dropped it! And it went 'CAPOOSH!'" Wes made an outrageous face at his sound effect, throwing his hands in the air. It would be extremely hard not to realize he was high on caffeine, if caffeine was the thing his mom was concerned he was on.

"Alright, I'll take your word for it, Wesley, but I want it picked up. I'm also going to need you to walk around with some air freshener, because Elise isn't coming to wash the rugs until Wednesday and can't stand this smell for much longer." She explained, gently tapping a single piece of black popcorn with her foot.

"Oh, mom! Also, I need something!" Wes shouted as she began to turn around. He almost jumped out and grabbed her in his hyperactive state.

"Need what, darling?" She said, her voice dripping annoyance so shrill it made her sound like she was in a horror movie.

"About three hundred." He said, his voice a little calmer as he turned into the contemplative Wes that was the head of Warbler's council. His mom seemed to understand he was talking about money, even though it took Blaine a second to figure it out.

"Wesley," She said, sighing to her shoes like she was confessing something she didn't want to admit before she looked up at he son, "I just bought you a new laptop last week. Just last week. Believe it or not, honey, your father and I don't have never-ending bank accounts. That laptop was real expensive, and I can't afford to be showering you with every dollar I have."

_Really? Because your house would say otherwise, Mrs. Rand... _Blaine thought, trying to keep his overlooked face neutral, attempting not to roll his eyes at her 'modesty.'

"No, mom, it's not for me, and it's not going towards electronics. It's for Blaine!" Wes shouted, pointing at the Blaine sitting at the bar stool across the room. He smiled, forcing all the dapper inside of him to rise to the surface, which led to him reluctantly pulling his hand away from his nose, only to gag and have to bring it back. He was very sensitive to unpleasant smells. This fault couldn't be helping him give off the angelic impression he was trying to give.

"Oh, hello, Blaine." She said, giving him a halfhearted smile. "I didn't see you over there."

"Hello," Blaine said, immediately regretting it as the word came out distorted from the entire plugging-his-nose deal.

She looked back at Wes and continued to talk as though he wasn't there, "Why does he need three hundred dollars?"

"Well," Wes said, smiling smugly, "He's trying to impress somebody. For... romantic reasons."

"Oh," She smiled, being sort of a romance-junkie herself, looking back to the Blaine who she'd found new respect for, "Who's the lucky girl?"

Blaine gave her a halfhearted smile, and he and Wes corrected her simultaneously, "Guy. Lucky guy."

"Oh... uhhh-" She mumbled, fiddling with her long purple fingernails. "Guy?"

"Mum, he's gay." Wes explained, his head bobbing up and down as he carefully explained the situation to his mother like it was a new and foreign concept.

"Wesley... you... he's not..." She muttered, looking up at her son with fear-filled eyes. _Boyfriend _got stuck on her tongue.

"Mum!" Wes screamed, leaning back in disgust at the thoughts he could tell were running through her head. Blaine made an 'o' with his mouth, wanting to say something to clarify the situation and calm the woman's somewhat offending reaction to her false assumption. "I'm_ straight!_ I have a _girlfriend!_ Remember her? Yeah, that funny girl who was here last week?"

"Oh- um... sorry, Blaine. I'll- I'll just go get some cash- I- uh, yes, I'll go do that now..." She mumbled incoherently as she raced to whatever place she was going that happened to be far away from her kitchen. Blaine doubted it was to this mysterious three-hundred dollars cash she kept on her for whatever reason.

Wes shook his head in shame as his mother left, turning back to Blaine, stepping on a few scattered popcorn pieces as he did so. "I'm sorry. She's an anxious and confused mess. But hey- we've got the money! Now we just got to go find a decent theater in Ohio!"

"Why'd you ask for so much?" Blaine asked, slowly pulling his hand away from his nose as the abominable scent was diluted into the air surrounding the the area, scrunching his face up at the scent still lingering on his clothes.

"Because," Wes said, grinning all to smugly for good things to come of his next sentence, swaying back and forth with his hands behind his back in innocence, "You never know when you might have to rent a motel room afterwords..."

Blaine glared at him with a look that could kill small children and fluffy woodland animals. "Wesley Rand, I will kill you."

Wes laughed like the caffeinated maniac he was, throwing his hands in the air as he ran away, screaming in a mockingly high-pitched voice, only slipping on a patch of popcorn once while Blaine shook his cup of caffeinated soda at him, shouting more various threats at the boy preparing himself to fight with a bright yellow broom that was supposed to be cleaning up the black kernels of the floor.

* * *

"Why, Blaine-ethen!" Wes shouted, looking up from the white carpet he was soaking in Febreze. "I do believe that's your annoying ring tone emitting from the other side of the room!"

Blaine looked up from where he sat lamely on the floor, continuing to spray the same spot on the rug with the Green Apple scent for three minutes now, unaware of the fact he was still spraying. His mind was undoubtedly millions of miles away, pondering the meanings of the universe and Kurt Hummel. Kurt Hummel was probably the meaning of the universe. Or at least Blaine's universe.

"You know, your 'British' accent isn't working for you. Hate to break it to you, but your Asian-" Blaine started, looking up from the now-soaking-wet-and-hideously-green-apple-smelling spot on the floor to the Wes who began to run across the almost-empty sun room that had witnessed the consequences of the burnt popcorn. Wes stopped, turning around at Blaine's comment and interrupting him.

"Stop being racist." Wes hissed.

"What? How am I-" Blaine defended, holding his palms up in surrender, not exactly sure what he was surrendering for.

"Stop, darling, before I cuss you out." Wes said, starting back with his obviously fake British accent. Why and how Blaine's annoying nickname he'd had no consent on turned into a (rather racist on _Wes's _part) accent was sort of a confusing concept to Blaine. But obnoxious teenage boys will be obnoxious teenage boys.

_"What? _Cuss me out?" Blaine said, confused. Wes bluntly ignored him, dashing off to the bright blue couch next to the wall-high windows as he searched through the clutter inside Blaine's bag. Blaine almost stood up to protest against Wes's shuffling through his personal stuff inside his bag, but suddenly Katy Perry's voice became clear once unleashed from the clutter muffling it, and Wes flipped open Blaine's phone, smiling at the caller ID.

"Hi, Kurt! Did you know your Teenage Dream on Blaine's phone? God, there must be so much romantic gush behind that song, that is how you met- oh wait! Sorry, I forgot. You guys aren't on speaking terms. Pretend I said nothing." Wes said, smiling smugly as he looked at Blaine, who looked extremely disgusted and mortified by the stream of words that flowed out of Wes's mouth.

Wes paused for a minute, listening to the voice on the other end. Blaine picked himself up, trying to close in on Wes to listen to the words on the other end, but politely shoved Blaine away.

"Oh, sorry, yeah, this is Wes. So, why you wanna talk to Blaine? I mean- well, he's unavailable. I can take a message." Wes said after he practically threw Blaine across the room.

Blaine had to resort to this behavior himself, if Wes wanted to play that way. He grabbed Wes's wrist, prior to picking himself up from where he was momentarily sitting on the expensive, green apple smelling rug lamely. Wes hissed, making a face resembling a frustrated cat as Blaine pulled on the wrist the hand in which he was holding his phone in. He swatted Blaine's grip away, jumping up on top of the couch for brief protection against the shortness that was Blaine.

"Yeah, he's uh- uh- in the bathroom! Yeah! I think he'll be in their for quite a while so if you just wanted to tell me what you need to say now and I can have him get back to you on anything-" Wes started.

Blaine followed Wes onto the couch, pulling the phone away from Wes's hand, no success against Wes's undying grip. "Don't listen to him, Kurt! I'm right here! Wes! Give me the damn phone!" Blaine shouted, pulling the phone as close to his mouth as Wes would allow, pulling back just as hard as Blaine, Blaine having the unfair advantage of two hands for prying the phone away.

"Shut up!" Wes yelled, kneeing Blaine in what was meant to be his chest. Unfortunately, this plot came to a hideous misunderstanding as his knee hit a lower place then his chest. Blaine's face turned red as he bit his lip, concealing some kind of verbal sign of agony, whether a swear or a scream was left undiscovered. He gave up his fight immediately, falling back onto the couch as he grabbed Wes to come down with him in a final feat before his fall.

Wes didn't fall as much as he sat down. Blaine, on the other hand, seemed to lose the will or either power to stand. "Oh, crap! Sorry! That wasn't supposed to happen- I- oh-" Wes apologized, wincing for Blaine. This sentence was followed with some unrepeatable, colorful words.

"I- I'm sorry, Kurt- I, oh- this is bad. I suck. Alright, as soon as Blaine recovers, he's going to tell me where you live and I'm going to drop him off. This is actually kind of perfect, I mean, I had to get Blaine over there anyway so I'm glad you called. Wait- I wasn't supposed to say that. Never mind. We haven't been plotting anything- I mean-"

Wes's rant was cut off by Kurt. He nodded, probably forgetting Kurt couldn't see him, "Okay. Good. Give me an hour, we ought to do something first- I mean, nothing that has to do with you, of course, I-"

Wes stopped, swallowing his sentence. He listened for a moment, eyes still on the Blaine lying in front of him. "Okay, uh, yeah, awesome. Bye!"

Wes hung up, seeming not to wait for another 'bye' from the other end.

He smiled halfheartedly at the boy in front of him who looked like he'd just been run over by a group of kids wearing cleats. "Uh, so guess what?"

Blaine stared at him, behind his agony a glare that threatened homicide at every angle. "What?" He hissed.

"Uh," Wes mumbled, "I guess we're going to Kurt's!

Blaine couldn't gather enough strength to say it through his Wes-induced pain. His glare implied it all, but just to help, he echoed inside his head, Wes obviously picking it up: _I hate you, Wes._

* * *

Hate in a completely friendly, annoyed sort of hate, Wes. Don't fret! You seem to be decent, or at least as decent as an obnoxious teenage boy can be... unlike David!

_I survived the Glee hiatus. _And yet, I've been left disappointed. I'm sure I could rant on and on and on about why I didn't like that episode (ehem, ehem- lack of Klaine much?), but that's not why your here.

Your _here_, because if you weren't, you wouldn't her my pleas: **review! Review! Review, please!**

I really need reviews. Because reviews are basically motivation. And I need motivation to write this story because my mind is whirling in circles over whether I should even coutinue. I apologize: I'm bad at commitment. Now, please change this by reviewing? I really appreciate those. :)

So, yeah. Review? Please? **  
**


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: **Glee isn't mine. I don't know if Frankenstein is trademarked... but I don't own that/him, either, just to be safe.

I drew Kurt and Blaine on a paper plate yesterday at an extremely boring family gathering. No one even noticed for a while until they realized it was Sharpie markers I was bringing to my plate, not forks. They where rather confused, at first, by the fact I had a boy in uniform and a boy in a designer jacket and a scarf holding hands, but after my cousin saw it she was happy to announce it was "the two gay guys on Glee!" A couple people looked a little weirded out by the fact I was related to them, but oh well. I hung it up in my room. I thought I'd share, because everyone else thinks I'm insane when I say this, at least my Internet friends will understand me.

Okay: that aside- **review? Yeah. Thanks. **

* * *

"Kurt," Mercedes admitted, scrolling through the browser on her shiny laptop, "Honestly, I think I'm jealous."

"Of what?" Kurt asked, looking up from from the drawers he was examining the contests of on Mercedes dresser, lamely occupying himself as he observed the funky names of her nail polish ranging from "Midnight Moon Magenta" to "Flippin' Florescent Fuchsia." Kurt didn't get it. The midnight moon was _not _magenta, it was _white, _maybe gray on a rainy night. Were there pollution problems near this place that made nail polish that caused the moon to become bright purple? And why did the fuchsia feel as though it had to use such language? It was unnecessary. The things people would do for alliteration.

"Well, Kurt," Mercedes explained, smiling but not looking up from her computer, "Your life is a romance movie! I'm seventeen, Kurt, and other then that week long Puck deal a couple forevers ago which was just really bad and those couple of weeks when I was possibly flirty at best with Anthony which you set up anyway, I haven't had a single romantic relationship. Those shouldn't even count as relationships. I've never even held hands with anyone but my dad when I was, like, six! Kurt, you have every boy- or at least every gay boy- in Ohio wrapped around your little finger!"

"Well," Kurt said, raising an eyebrow at Mercedes gushing, "I've only ever met two gay men, Blaine and Kar- kaa..." Kurt stopped, cutting himself off. He didn't need Mercedes and her assertiveness to go about threatening the life of Karofsky more then she already did. Telling this story would have no benefits.

"Cousin. Yeah, a cousin." Kurt finished, a little to quick. "I have. A gay cousin." He lied.

Kurt forced an innocent smile on his face, already enduring enough pain from the cement-like cream on his face. Mercedes gave him a questioning look, but dismissed it, as she went on to bigger things. "I found it!"

"Found what?" Kurt asked, turning "Outrageously Original Orange" over in his hands.

"Alright: you have a choice. Cinnamon, vanilla, lavender, or frank-frankin... Frankenstein? Some word for tree scent." Mercedes explained, not looking up from her computer screen.

"You mean frankincense? What?" Kurt spat, extremely confused.

"Pick one! Quick!" Mercedes urged, gesturing to hurry up with his hands like it was the end of the world.

"Uh, vanilla?"

"Good choice. Like cookies. Cookies are beautiful..." Mercedes trailed off, reading the page before looking up to Kurt, "Apparently men are attracted to cookies."

"Mercedes," Kurt moaned, "I am _so _confused right now."

Mercedes stood up, dropping her laptop on her bed as she stood in front of Kurt, her hands on his shoulders as she nodded is head in explanation as though he was five. "Kurt. _Men like the smell of vanilla. _Or cinnamon and lavender and Frankenstein-"

"Frankincense," Kurt corrected, but Mercedes ignored him.

"The point is, they're attracted to it. Or says the Internet. But the Internet is almost always right."

"That's a lie! I hate frankincense, it's so-"

"Kurt!" Mercedes shouted, shaking his shoulders. "You don't count. Your an honorary girl, right? That's what the deal was last time I heard..."

"Yeah, I guess." Kurt mumbled, his mind trailing off along with his voice. He wasn't focusing on anything specific. Mostly Blaine. Intensely confusing feelings over Blaine.

"Kuu-urt?" Mercedes singsonged after a moment. "Still with us?"

"Uh, yeah. Totally." Kurt muttered.

"Well, then, great. Because I need to go get some vanilla out of kitchen downstairs, and I need you to call Blaine. Invite him over to your house for say... in an hour or two?" Mercedes explained, letting go of Kurt's shoulders and she wiped her hands on her jeans as if to resemble all the work she was doing. Like all this mental plotting was getting her hands dirty. She was already off to grab Kurt's cell phone from where it sat on her own bed.

After the given moment in which Kurt processed what Mercedes was saying, he shouted, "Wait, what? Now? Already? I- I- no, not-"

Mercedes ignored Kurt's intelligible plea, shushing him with a finger to her lips as she put Kurt's phone to her own ear.

"I mean- I- this is-" Kurt stuttered, stating at Mercedes with wide, fearful eyes before she handed Kurt his own phone and whispered, "It's ringing."

"What?" Kurt hissed, letting go of the phone in repulsion he'd began to pick up in confusion. "You mean you called Blaine? What?"

"He's first on your contacts, Kurt, it wasn't hard." Mercedes explained in a hushed tone like Blaine could hear her, even though the other end hadn't picked up. She was still holding onto half of the phone as Kurt let go, so it didn't drop. She pressed it to Kurt's ear herself.

Kurt protested, wiggling away from Mercedes before the other end of the call picked up and he couldn't let go. He took the phone in his owned hand, looking distressed as Mercedes left the room with a wink and a thumbs up, leaving Kurt alone.

"Hi, Kurt! Did you know your Teenage Dream on Blaine's phone? God, there must be so much romantic gush behind that song, that is how you met- oh wait! Sorry, I forgot. You guys aren't on speaking terms. Pretend I said nothing." A familiar voice on the other end shouted, more fast paced then a three year old on Skittles. The curious thing though, was that this familiar voice wasn't Blaine. Even if it was Blaine, it would be worrisome that he was talking about himself in third person.

"Uh... who's this?" Kurt whispered.

"Oh, sorry, yeah, this is Wes. So, why you wanna talk to Blaine? I mean- well, he's unavailable. I can take a message." Wes shouted breathlessly. In the middle of this, there was a loud bang on the other end that seemed to either go ignored or unnoticed.

"Yeah, he's uh- uh- in the bathroom! Yeah! I think he'll be in their for quite a while so if you just wanted to tell me what you need to say now and I can have him get back to you on anything-" Wes yelled, obviously occupying himself with some sort of activity on the other end that required quite a bit of moving around. In the midst of this, Kurt could hear supposedly Blaine in the background screaming, "Don't listen to him, Kurt! I'm right here! Wes! Give me the damn phone!" There must of been quite a bit of tussle over the phone, random buttons were being pushed making loud beeps in the middle of this and a lot of the speech was muffled by what was assumed to be hands.

"Uh, guys, I-" Kurt started, but went ignored.

"Shut up!" Wes yelled.

"Wes, I-" Kurt mumbled. After feeling offended for a moment, he realized that was probably for Blaine.

"Oh, crap! Sorry! That wasn't supposed to happen- I- oh-" Wes hissed to Blaine on the other end. Kurt felt rather left out, but was shocked out of this feeling when Wes started loudly cursing words Kurt didn't even know, and he was the one who went to public school and was repetitively bullied with those kinds of words, not Wes.

"Wes, sorry, but-"

"I- I'm sorry, Kurt- I, oh- this is bad. I suck. Alright, as soon as Blaine recovers, he's going to tell me where you live and I'm going to drop him off. This is actually kind of perfect, I mean, I had to get Blaine over there anyway so I'm glad you called. Wait- I wasn't supposed to say that. Never mind. We haven't been plotting anything- I mean-" Wes mumbled. Kurt was a little taken aback by what he was saying.

"What? I mean, sure- but- Wes, what happened?" Kurt shouted, sick of being ignored.

"Okay. Good. Give me an hour, we ought to do something first- I mean, nothing that has to do with you, of course, I-" Wes continued.

"Wes, what are you-"

Wes cut Kurt off (again), "Okay, uh, yeah, awesome. Bye!" Wes shouted.

"Uh, bye?" Kurt whispered as he heard the call end mid-word.

"What was that?" Mercedes said from behind him, raising an eyebrow. Kurt spun around, unrealistically shocked by her presence.

"I- uh... I'm not sure." Kurt mumbled, shrugging with this honesty.

"Well, is he coming over?" Mercedes asked.

"I think. In an hour?" Kurt whispered.

"Perfect." Mercedes said, nodding as she grabbed Kurt by his shoulder. "That gives us thirty minutes to turn you into a sexy mess before I take you home. I think we can do it."

"Sexy mess? I thought we were settling on somewhat more attractive then usual, I mean, I don't even-"

"Kurt, I lie sometimes. Deal with it." Mercedes sighed, pulling him into her bathroom scattered with beauty products.

"Mercedes, I'm not good at sexy-" Kurt whimpered. Mercedes began to talk over him, beginning to explain his mission, but he screamed over her in the competition to be heard, and Mercedes heard: "_As much sexual appeal as a baby penguin!" _

"Kurt. Calm down. Your beautiful." Mercedes assured. "Now sit on the counter."

"I don't know if I can do this," Kurt mumbled, eying the counter he was supposed to be sitting on like that was the problem.

"Kurt, I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do. But before we do anything, we have to get that stuff of your face or Blaine's going to think you've lost it." Mercedes said, gesturing for him to sit on the counter with her hand.

"But I don't want Blaine to think-" Kurt mumbled, his eyes straying to the ceiling.

"Kurt!" Mercedes interrupted, grabbing his face so he had to look at her. "Blaine isn't going to think anything. He's _not _going to think your trying to hard because we're going to make you seem completely oblivious to the shortness of your clothing."

"Shortness of my clothing?" Kurt asked reluctantly, and Mercedes just continued to bob her head up and down.

"Yes, Kurt. Now calm down."

"I-" Kurt started.

"Kurt Hummel! Cool it!" Mercedes shouted over him. "I love you, but your awfully stubborn."

"I'm not stubborn, I'm just worried that-" Kurt began, but Mercedes sighed in annoyance and brought the wet cloth to his face, no longer waiting for his consent.

Kurt fought back, trying to pull the rag of his face. Mercedes pulled back, waiting for his next choice, and Kurt could see she was ready to suffocate him again with that dirty rag again if he said the wrong this.

"Okay," Kurt gave up, holding his hand out so he could take the rag for himself, "Whatever."

Mercedes dropped the cloth in his outstretched hand. "Good."

* * *

This chapter kind of stunk, I know, I know. I just needed to add some more meaningless suspense and some more clarification in there before I get to the good stuff.

**Review! :) **

(Also, if you celebrate it and it's about that time of year for you, too, **Happy Easter!** I kind of wanted to do a celebratory oneshot aside from this story, but I honestly couldn't think of anything.) **  
**


	34. Chapter 34

Today's A/N comes to you in six parts:

1. **Disclaimer: **Me no owns Glee.

2. Born This Way. Beautiful. I cried. Twice. My friends think I've lost it. End of story.

3. I feel so shameful over my updates. They've been so terrible... but I think I might be actually somewhat consistent with updates for the next few days because I have everything for the next few chapters written out in a notebook, I just need to type it. Plus, the great journey of Winnie The Pooh is coming to an end this Sunday.

* * *

"I blame you." Blaine hissed, counting the sentences on his fingers, "I blame you for global warming. I blame you for world hunger. I blame you for poverty. I blame you for-"

"Blaine, cool it." Wes interrupted, slamming the car door behind him as he walked out into the dull day, the gray sky mixing with the chalky pavement beneath his feet. "Nothing bad has even happened yet."

"_Yet._" Blaine repeated, following Wes out of the car, making an emphasis on the slamming door.

"Whatever. Your such a downer." Wes said, leaning on Blaine's clunky and huge car as Blaine got out. He'd been grumbling the entire ride over, cursing Wes and overemphasizing the situation with drama and unrealistic outcomes. The only reason Wes hadn't gotten forcefully throw out of the car was because he kept fanning himself with the money, the looming threat of taking it away made clear despite being unspoken. They'd spent a substantial amount of it on the way over, but Wes didn't plan on leaving any time soon even now that the cash was no longer needed. And his motive wasn't just to annoy Blaine, as one might think, he had to make sure he made it to Kurt's house and then he'd leave. That was the agreement they'd made before Wes handed over the money as they stood in front of the man behind the glass selling tickets, the man who seemed rather confused by the situation and rather thrilled when Blaine started shuffling through a thick stack of twentys.

"Can't you leave now? We're here." Blaine moaned, gesturing to the house in front of them like Wes hadn't realized it was there.

"Nope." Wes said, shaking his head back and forth. "Not till I see you making physical contact with Kurt. And as amusing as it would be to see and random kiss the second Kurt opens that door, that's not what I mean. Before I'm fully satisfied with you staying there, I need to see at least a halfhearted poke in the arm. Something like that."

"Halfhearted poke? What?" Blaine asked. Wes was odd. He had unrealistic standards and described things in a way that didn't always make sense.

"Anyway... go ahead. Ring the doorbell, Blaine." Wes urged, throwing his hands out towards the house so Blaine would walk over to the door in front of them.

"Wes, I really don't think when he called he wanted me to come over at all. Don't you think this is just sort of all uncalled for and Kurt's going to be kind of scared when I open the door? Or at least hate me more then he already does?" Blaine said, reluctant to step any closer to that scarily intimidating door and it's cheery ring.

"Listen, Mr. Grumpy-Pants," Wes said fiercely, pointing a finger between Blaine's eyes, almost close enough to be touching his forehead. Blaine had to restrain himself from crossing his eyes like an idiot. "I know romance. I'm like a love psychiatrist- oh! A love-"

"Don't you dare say it!" Blaine scolded, pointing at Wes as he backed off.

"Love doctor!" Wes shouted over him, smug with Blaine's embarrassment over the cliche.

"But anyway," Wes singsonged, crossing his hands over his chest, "I know what I'm doing. See, Kurt _called _you. He _wants_ you. He called you because he's trying to tell you that, but with the option to hang up if things got to awkward. Otherwise he'd apologize in the hallway or send you a text, because he wouldn't be worried about the presentation if he was just giving you a friendly apology. Calling someone is both sentimental but uncommitted. Texting is too causal, and face-to-face is almost inescapable. "

"Where the heck did you learn this stuff?" Blaine muttered, his feet unmoving through this. He stared at Wes like he had three eyes. Wesley Rand wasn't smart, not any given moment in space and time should or would Wesley Rand make sense, and yet, here he was, defying gravity.

"Well, I should say it's because I was simply born a genius... but," Wes admitted, "It would be personal experience."

"Oh." Blaine said. That made sense. Wesley had a similar love life to one of a reality show star.

"So, now that we've got that knowledge out of the way- go get him!" Wes said, pushing him (rather hard, actually) towards the door.

"No, I can't- I-"

It was when an inaudible, shrill shriek came from the house when both Wes and Blaine shuddered simultaneously at the horror-movie like sound and stopped their stupid brawl.

Blaine gathered his courage after this, and walked to the door, pressing the doorbell with a single finger, a little concerned, a little more anxious with his fingers drumming against his leg. Wes walked up behind him, raising an eyebrow. "What the hell was that?"

"Uh, I don't know. It sounded like Kurt." Blaine mumbled, staring at the door like he could will it to open if he tried hard enough. The situation was a little ominous. Even the fantastical spiders were crawling up his neck and causing chills, even in the melodramatic but perfectly cool weather.

"That scream was not female. I swear my life on it."

"Wes, stop being an idiot." Blaine hissed, not looking away from the door. If Wes got to accuse him of being racist in the middle of irrelevant conversation, why couldn't Blaine do the same?

"What? I'm not-"

"Stop. Just. Stop." Blaine demanded.

"Blaine! What did I-" Wes protested.

"Just _please,_" Blaine begged, looking at Wes for a second before looking back to the door, "Just please stop."

"I- uh, okay?" Wes gave up, feeling sympathy for Blaine's giant eyebrows that were melding together in concern.

They stood there in silence for a minute, two minutes, three minutes, with nothing more happening, no sounds except for Wes uncomfortably pushing rocks around on the pavement with his foot, occasionally kicking them down the driveway. Wes got tired of it after a so many minutes and whispered, "Ring the doorbell again. Maybe he didn't fear it."

_Or maybe he's dead? Because this situation is growing increasingly more tense and melodramatic by the second and I've never heard a more high pitched noise in my life? _

Blaine nodded, ringing the doorbell again. This time, only twenty seconds later did the door open, an insanely tall boy rocking a mountain-man plaid shirt opened the door, smiling innocently, his eyes darting nervously behind him when he recognized Blaine and simply noted the boy with the spiky hair.

"Blaine? You- you're... here?" The boy asked, as though Blaine's presence wasn't exactly logical.

"Hello, Finn," Blaine said, a little annoyed with Finn's reaction. But Kurt said it was normal for everyone to feel annoyed by Finn. "Is Kurt here? He said that-"

"Finn! Just- uh, go back to your Xbox or something!" Screamed the boy who popped up behind Finn. Blaine almost took a double take.

Finn looked a little insulted. "Okay... uh... did you... ask Burt, because..." He stuttered awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets of his oversized flannel sweater and looking at his shoes. He was probably remembering the entire shower fiasco of a million years ago. Who would want those two boys in this house at the same time after what they'd been accused of? It was funny, though, because despite rumors of some extremely inappropriate activity between the two, they most intimate they'd ever gotten was a peck on the cheek while being weighed down my Goodwill bags and empty ice cream cups.

"Yes, I did." Kurt lied swiftly. "Off with you." He demanded, pointing behind him.

"Okay?" Finn responded, slowly walking up the stairs to his room, looking behind him as he walked with a questioning look.

Once Finn had descended up the stairs, Kurt turned to Blaine. He gave him an innocent smile, "Blaine... uh... hi. And... Wes?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow at the awfully smug boy behind Blaine.

"Hey, Kurt. I was just dropping Blaine off. I'll be going now." Wes answered Kurt's questioning face, walking backwards to Blaine's car with a smile as he watched the two boys.

Blaine was rendered speechless. His mind didn't even remind him that Wes was now taking off in his car and he would have no way back home. He just stared at the boy in front of him, crossed between confusion and amazement.

Kurt stood in the doorway, one hand caressing the over, covered in a blue towel complete with bloodstains. He was in possibly the smallest shorts known demand, and Blaine was absolutely oblivious to how uncomfortable Kurt was in the thing that probably could get you kicked out of Dalton in less time then it took to take a breath. Kurt leaned over, the hand that wasn't covered in a bloodstain-sporting cloth pulling the shorts down a little bit before he had to pull them back up so they wouldn't fall off. Apart from those shorts, he was wearing a baggy shirt that wasn't too flattering around the waist, but the neck was far too big and it fell to one side so one shoulder was visible. This shoulder was unfairly attractive for a shoulder. Shoulders should not be attractive. They should be shoulders. Blaine couldn't describe it, but Kurt's shoulder was very, _very _beautiful.

"Blaine? You okay?" Kurt asked, leaning over at an awkward angle like that would make his shorts longer.

"Iiiuhhh..." Blaine trailed, forcing himself to look at Kurt's face instead of his shorts. Well, he wasn't necessarily staring at the _shorts... _"Of course! Sorry. Your hand... what happened?" Blaine said, catching himself as he transitioned back into Dapper Blaine. Or at least Somewhat Dapper Blaine. He was still a bit frazzled by Kurt's shorts as much as he shouldn't be.

"Oh," Kurt mumbled. "Got skewered with a plastic bottle."

Blaine looked at Kurt's hand for a minute, his brain struggling to make sense of the words that left Kurt's mouth. "That must of... hurt."

"Uh, yeah. It did..." Kurt mumbled, looking at his shoes while he rubbed his moist palms on his shirt.

"I- I'm sorry, Kurt. But you smell like a big, soft shortbread cookie with, like, the really good homemade frosting. It's distracting." Blaine admitted, his face looking as though he was actually in pain and his brain leaving the subject of injury faster then it had gotten there. But Kurt really did smell beautiful. Like he'd spent the day roaming around a bakery. He barely even realized that he sounded a little drunk. He was coming off his caffeine high, maybe he should of waited until he'd regained sanity to come talk to Kurt.

"Oh, sorry, you don't like it?" Kurt asked, looking worried.

"Oh! No, of course not. It's absolutely wonderful, actually." Blaine nodded, in agreement with himself. "Are you baking cookies or something?"

"Uhmm... no." Kurt said awkwardly, his eyes straying to the ceiling.

"Oh."

* * *

4. Finn isn't really this stupid. I don't think he is. In fact, as of last night I've started to actually like our 'main' character. (KURT SHOULD BE THE MAIN CHARACTER, OKAY? THAT'S JUST WHAT SHOULD HAPPEN. END OF STORY.)

5. Your supposed to be confused. Don't stress, you didn't miss anything about Kurt's hand being skewered by a plastic bottle, screams, and/or vanilla. That will be coming up when I post the next chapter.

6. I like... when people **review**... yeah. I only need seven more until two hundred... and I might be like, **really, really happy** if I got two hundred on this chapter... *hint, hint*


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer: **Glee is not mine.

My consistency is absolutely terrible. First it's four day gaps on chapters, now it's about four hours. It's okay if you want to kill me, I understand.

I only do this because this chapter and the one before this are a little... irrelevant to the plot and very possibly boring? I don't know. I shouldn't put that idea in my head before you even start reading. What kind of writer am I?

Yes, yes. **Reviews are nice. **They really are.

* * *

"I don't think I'm going to live through this." Kurt moaned, his face in his hand. He was now sitting on his own bed, at his own house, and Mercedes sat behind him, spraying some cold substance on the back of his neck.

"Kurt, I have faith in you." Mercedes assured in monotone from behind him. She sat cross-legged behind Kurt, who sat in a similar position aside from his forehead to his toes.

Kurt winced as more cold liquid was sprayed on the back of his neck. "Is that really necessary?"

"Of _course, _Kurt. I'd expect you to be the last one to ask if a beauty enhancement is _necessary. _God, what has that private school done to you?" Mercedes said in disappointment. "How am I supposed to let you try and impress a boy who's going to turn you insensitive to _fashion _of all things." She continued, tousling Kurt's heavily conditioned brown hair as she sprayed it with her homemade concoction inside a pink spray bottle. He'd moved his head in protest as it was wet down with a series of spritzes from the bottle, but Mercedes only ignored it and stayed in her own little world of Fashion and It's Ways.

"I'm going to smell like I fell in a vat of cookie batter." Kurt complained, even though he knew by now his opinions were looked over, and stepped over, like ants on a sidewalk, and Mercedes herself often contributed to this, especially when it came to appearance. The two could go back and forth for hours about a sweater they'd seen in a window, and Mercedes always overcame Kurt in the area of stubbornness and strong opinions. But it was okay if Kurt was shoved in an atrocious sweater from time to time when no one was looking if it meant maintaining a friendship with the almighty Mercedes. She was high maintenance, but worth it. Her fashion sense was only rarely terrible: aside from her hatred towards knit anything and her obsession over technicolor, she was rather wonderful with clothes and almost as great as Kurt himself when it came to spotting trends.

Mercedes gave a halfhearted sigh, most of her dedication towards the situation into the beauty aspect. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Are you sure your doing it right? What if it bleaches my hair or something?" Kurt worried. The heat of the situation arising was starting to get to his fragile nerves.

"Calm down, Kurt. It's vanilla, not ammonia. Not to mention it's mostly water, anyway. I think all I put in this was vanilla, some spray conditioner, and water. None of that killed anybody."

"Okay, first off, spray conditioner is bad and unreliable and I question your authority as a fashion-educated person now that I know you keep this in your house. But also, just so you know, if my hair turns green, I blame you." Kurt whined.

"You know what? I'm okay with that. Because your hair _isn't_ going to turn green, or any foreign colors, for that matter." Mercedes stated.

Kurt ran a hand through his hair with the stress he was going through before Mercedes smacked it with the top of the bottle. Kurt winced, hissing as he caressed his hand with the other. "What was that for? That hurt!"

"Sorry. Instinct reaction. I just can't have you messing up your hair." Mercedes apologized. "I didn't snag you with the cap, did I?"

Kurt realized this to be the source of his pain. He looked at his finger, slowly pulling his hand from over it.

That's when he screamed.

Kurt had a rather high-pitched scream. It wasn't the kind of high-pitched breaking-glass kind of scream, but it was certainly above an average boy's vocal range. It was the sort of scream in the cartoons when some guy sees a spider and does this really high-pitched scream before jumping into someone's arms and they all call him a girl. Kurt screamed, backing up like his hand wouldn't follow him when he did so. He held it out to put as much distance between himself and his hand. The scream at first was mostly brought on by just the sight of something so grotesque, but immediately after he felt a sharp and terribly painful pang in his pointer finger after seeing all the blood.

Mercedes became far more alert by this, jumping off the bed and shouting, "What's the matter? Is it that-" Mercedes started, but then she caught a glimpse of his finger herself. She went in full doctor-mode (a mode Kurt didn't know Mercedes had) as she ran to Kurt's vanity, throwing things around as she looked for whatever, shouting at Kurt to calm down as his scream began to fade.

The door flying open was dismissed in the midst of the sudden insanity, and Finn had to shout over Kurt, who seemed to be whimpering in shrill breaths, which was somewhat of a challenge. "Kurt!" He shouted.

Mercedes only looked behind her for a moment before turning back to the mess she was creating as she searched Kurt's dresser in slight panic mode.

"There's no skin on my freaking finger!" Kurt screamed. He was holding onto his knees with one hand, the other hand, distinctly red, was held out as far as his arm would let him. Kurt's eyes where closed so tight you'd think they were going to fall out if he opened them.

"What?" Finn shouted. "What happened?"

"Finn!" Mercedes screamed over him, throwing a small white box ferociously on the ground, "Do you have a freaking towel in this freaking house?"

"Oh, uh..." Finn mumbled, "Yeah, in the kitchen there are some dish rags-"

"Well then, great!" Mercedes shouted, even though the competition to be the loudest had died down and the only noise was Kurt's hushed whimpers.

Mercedes gently grabbed Kurt by his shoulder, tugging a little bit. "Kurt," she hissed in a hushed whisper of comfort. Or at least supposed to be comfort. It came out as mostly annoyance, due to that very feeling felt towards the lack of rags in this house, this feeling directed towards the Frankenteen standing in the door way who had pronounced this.

Kurt moaned. "I think I'm going to puke."

"What did he do-" Finn started from the other side of the room.

"I'm not good with blood," Kurt continued, explained, shaking his head back and forth in emphasis to his discomfort. "'Specially not my own."

"That's noted." Mercedes said, "Now, you have to come upstairs so we can go in the kitchen-"

"O-okay." Kurt muttered, his eyes still closed as he stood up, Mercedes holding his shoulder in support. "Can I have a rag or something so it doesn't- doesn't, ugg," Kurt gagged at his thoughts. "Like... get own the floor?"

"You mean drip?" Finn asked at the other end of the room, his head turned sideways in confusion. A big man like himself would be oblivious to gore, of course. After all those movies, insensitivity was bound to ensure.

Kurt knelt down, holding his chest as he made a painful face. He gagged, coughing like he was ready to throw up all over his rug.

"Did he eat something bad or something?" Finn asked innocently as Mercedes stared him down.

"Com'mon, Kurt," Mercedes said, pulling him up with her hand under his armpit. "We have to go upstairs to clean up the blood."

Kurt stood up, still looking like he was going to be sick. Mercedes pushed him forward to the door, and he reluctantly walked, only opening the eye on the opposite side of his hand to direct himself. "Blood..." He mumbled under his breath, looking sicker with every syllable that emerged from his mouth, "Dripping..."

Finn led them up the stairs, looking back behind his shoulder to make sure Kurt wouldn't either faint and/or puke. "It's not that bad, Kurt, don't worry," Mercedes urged, squeezing the shoulder she hadn't let go of.

"Yeah," Finn agreed. "I mean, it isn't even like the skin is still hanging there or anything. I think it got ripped clean off... how did that happen, anyway?"

Kurt shuddered, stopping still for a moment halfway up the stairs so he could squeeze his eyes shut again and mentally convince himself Finn was telling him lies.

Mercedes looked like she was ready to pull out a knife and decapitate Finn.

After reaching the top of the stairs, Finn obediently ran to grab a dish towel as Mercedes led Kurt to a kitchen table, setting him down in a seat. He had now refused to open his eyes after Finn had glorified the gore that was Kurt's new wound. It was rather over dramatic, really. It wasn't a ridiculously _large _cut, there was just _a lot _of blood. Even Mercedes was getting a bit squeamish, and she was good with these things.

Finn placed the little blue towel gently over Kurt's hand lying limply on the table. Kurt looked up at Finn, confused for a minute before he caught sight of the fluffy thing on top of his hand.

"I- uh, thanks." Kurt muttered as he gently pushed the cloth on his finger, wincing.

Then it happened: _the doorbell. _

"I'll get it," Finn said innocently over the cheerful bells, rubbing his palms on his jeans after the entire disaster.

Mercedes and Kurt looked at each other, both of them with a mutual understanding of the problem. It was problem enough that Finn was opening the door. For Blaine. Who would probably run off screaming and flailing his arms after Finn opened his mouth, he just had that effect on people.

The door opened, and Kurt's eyes grew wider as he heard the door drag on the rug. Mercedes gave him a supportive smile, putting a hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Good luck."

She descended off to the back door and left Kurt standing alone in the kitchen, absorbing the scary situation, his expression gradually growing worse and worse as thoughts sprung in his head.

"Blaine? You- you're... here?" Finn stuttered. He was so... just... _ugh. _

"Hello, Finn," Blaine said. Kurt's breath hitched as he heard his voice, and suddenly he found himself running across the house to Finn, almost slipping on the tile in his sock feet. "Is Kurt here? He said that-"

"Finn! Just- uh, go back to your Xbox or something!" Kurt screamed, a little breathless as he ran up behind Finn. His eyes darted between the dumbstruck Finn and the dumbstruck Blaine. With Wes? What was Wes doing at his house? Hell, for what logical reason did Blaine have for being at his house?

Finn looked at Kurt, a little insulted before everything turned awkward. "Okay... uh... did you... ask Burt, because..." He stuttered awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets of his oversized flannel sweater and looking at his shoes.

"Yes, I did." Kurt lied, thinking nothing of it. With so much drama, what harm could a little lie do? "Off with you." He demanded, pointing behind him in the direction of Finn's room.

"Okay?" Finn responded, slowly walking up the stairs to his room, looking behind him as he walked with a questioning look.

Once Finn had descended up the stairs, Kurt turned to Blaine. Kurt forced a smile on his face, "Blaine... uh... hi. And... Wes?"

"Hey, Kurt. I was just dropping Blaine off. I'll be going now." Wes answered Kurt's questioning face, walking backwards to Blaine's car with a smile as he watched the two boys. Kurt didn't bother raising an eyebrow: Wes was Wes. He didn't need anymore raised eyebrows then usual. Someday he was going to ask for a dime for every raised eyebrow he ever got, and Kurt didn't need to add another ten cents to him millions.

Kurt squeezed the towel over his cut, biting his lip. This was terrible. Kurt was supposed to be in skinny jeans right now. Not the pajamas he was in. Never before had he regretted having such small pajamas. Sure, Kurt didn't care when Mercedes was around, he wasn't supposed to look perfect, he was still getting ready. And if Finn could walk around the kitchen with only a towel around his waist at six am, Kurt should be able to wear tiny shorts on a Saturday. But this was Blaine, not his best friend, not his brother. Kurt felt extremely self conscious, and he leaned over, pulling his shorts down a little before he had to pull them back up some more.

"Blaine? You okay?" Kurt asked, noticing Blaine's stare at his shorts. He could only hope positive things were spinning through that's boys head.

"Iiiuhhh..." Blaine trailed, looking back up at Kurt. "Of course! Sorry. Your hand... what happened?" Blaine said. He sounded more controlled now. More normal.

"Oh," Kurt mumbled. "Got skewered with a plastic bottle." After a moment, Kurt realized how odd his words sounded, but he didn't pull them back.

"That must of... hurt." Blaine offered, seeming to rack his brain for words.

"Uh, yeah. It did..." Kurt mumbled, looking at his shoes while he rubbed his moist palms on his shirt. And it did. And it still did.

"I- I'm sorry, Kurt. But you smell like a big, soft shortbread cookie with, like, the really good homemade frosting. It's distracting." Blaine admitted. He almost looked like he was in pain.

"Oh, sorry, you don't like it?" Kurt asked. He mentally panicked, cursing Mercedes every word.

"Oh! No, of course not. It's absolutely wonderful, actually." Blaine said. "Are you baking cookies or something?"

"Uhmm... no." Kurt said awkwardly, his eyes straying to the ceiling. He should of said yes. It was obvious he was trying to hard.

"Oh."

"Uh, come in." Kurt offered, forcing a smile on his face. This was hard: what in the name of Grilled Cheesus were they supposed to talk about?

_The weather's nice... _

No.

Blaine nodded, following him in. Kurt walked over to his living room, plopping down on a couch. Blaine forced a smile, sitting on a seat on the opposite side of the room from Kurt. "The weather's nice." He mumbled.

Kurt stared at him, looking homicidal if anything.

The silence that followed was painfully awkward, and despite the loudest noise in the household being the faint sound of digital gunshots from Finn's room, the thoughts in Kurt's head were absolutely deafening.

* * *

I have to put something down here in order to fulfill my compulsion to do so... I swear I don't have OCD even if I act like it. Funny, though. I share the name with a certain Glee counselor with OCD. But I swear... it's only a coincidence... _my hair is blond, thank you very much. The similarities stop at out names. Because I'm more attracted to they gay kid then I am Mr. Shue. Though, I am unhealthily attracted to this gay boy... despite my being a female. Ah, forbidden love..._

Now that I got that irrelevant and unneeded rant out of the way- **REVIEW! :D**_  
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	36. Chapter 36

Kurt had thought he'd witnessed awkwardness before. He'd been in situations where he prayed for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. But now, he kind of wished a giant bird with huge fangs would swoop in and shatter the windows and fly of with Kurt in his mouth before Blaine tried to open his mouth again. I mean, really? When you start talking about the weather, you're just _asking _for awkwardness. That kind of talk is only acceptable if your in science class or in the middle of a deadly hurricane.

The smile plastered on Blaine's face wasn't even halfhearted. Maybe _tenthhearted _at best. He was lucky, though. The nine tenths of his brain that wasn't competing to keep that smile on his face was a million miles away, off in some other dimension, suspiciously one with significant more amounts of cotton candy and sheet music, preferably Top Forty songs. Whereas Kurt was actually in reality, and right now, he wasn't exactly in love with it.

It dawned on Kurt, while he sat on his couch with his knees pulled to his chin and Blaine across the room, sitting in an oversized chair with his eyes fixed on a blank spot on the wall to the right of Kurt's head, that the majority of their relationship was awkward. Could this even be considered a _relationship? _More like mutual confusing feelings for one another that included butterflies and _occasional_ lust.

The "I'm sorry" that followed the silence of the room was unexpected, even to Kurt, who, after a moment, realized the two words came from his mouth.

Blaine looked away from the spot on the wall, slowly snapping back to the reality Kurt was forced to stay in. "For what?"

"I don't know, everything?" Kurt offered, not making eye contact with Blaine. It was funny, though, how sometimes sorry was an apology and sometimes sorry was a feeling. Kurt wasn't apologizing, he was simply stating that he was sorry. He was sorry for every frown on Blaine's face, whether it was Kurt's fault or not. He was sorry that he'd gone all fan girl on Blaine on he'd been forced into a relationship he obviously wasn't ready for, it he'd even wanted to be in it in the first place. Kurt was sorry for himself that Blaine's wasn't perfect, and however selfish that was, he was sorry that everything in his life wasn't perfect. He was sorry David had to ever introduce the concept of puppy love to Blaine, and he was sorry Blaine was oblivious enough to his own and other people's feelings to believe him.

Blaine caught Kurt's eyes for just a moment, and Kurt's breath hitched when he saw his eyes. Blaine looked just as sorry as Kurt, whether for the same reasons or not.

Kurt hated cliches, he really did. But he swore he saw a sparkle in the corner of Blaine's deep hazel eyes. Kurt didn't know if that sparkle was a trick of the florescent light bulb next to Blaine or if it meant something. They say someone's eyes reflects everything inside of them. Of course, who knew whether 'they' were a reliable source or not.

Blaine left the chair, and hesitantly, he sat next to Kurt on the couch, only an inch away from touching him. Kurt looked at Blaine, feeling a little less breathless then what should be normal.

"Listen to me, Kurt," Blaine whispered. "Please don't be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

Kurt blinked a few times like that was the only movement he could make right now. This meant Blaine was forced to watch Kurt's long eyelashes flutter and he felt his heart beat a little faster. "In fact," He added, straying to safer, more natural ground. "I'm blaming Wes for all my problems now. Care to join me?"

Kurt found himself giggling like a five year old. "Don't be so hard on him, he's perfectly innocent."

Blaine raised an eyebrow, a smile forming on the corner of his mouth. "Perfectly innocent? Did you _hear _that phone call?"

Kurt smiled, remembering Teenage Dream being his ring tone, if Wes hadn't made that up. He had to admit to himself he was immensely flattered, even if Blaine hadn't made the connection and all of that was only a coincidence. "What was going on over there, anyway?"

Blaine made a over dramatic sigh at the memory, trying to get another giggle out of Kurt. "Well," He explained, dragging the word, "While we were disinfecting Wes's rug of burnt popcorn smell, you called, and Wes beat me to the phone, and next thing I know Wes is basically beating me up. It was... excruciating, actually."

Kurt released his knees that he was holding to his chest, unraveling him from what was becoming the small, isolated ball of Kurt. "Okay, maybe Wes isn't so innocent."

"Maybe?" Blaine shouted, failing his arms. "He _isn't _innocent, end of story."

"I guess I could believe that." Kurt admitted, unhealthily amused by Blaine's drama.

Blaine didn't answer him after a few seconds, and Kurt was opening his mouth again to stop the awkwardness plague from coming back, but Blaine started again, changing topic. "I'm sorry, Kurt."

"For?" Kurt asked.

"For being oblivious to your feelings, for misreading everything I ever saw on your face. I'm sorry for telling you it was puppy love and hurting you before coming back and demanding you deal with my ever changing emotions. I'm sorry I'm an idiot and I'm sorry I suck at romance." Blaine went on, and his hand made his way to Kurt's wrist and he gently squeezed it, "Don't be sorry, Kurt, you did everything perfect. It's my fault."

"Oh," Kurt whispered, breathless. His entire mind was on Blaine's hand around his wrist. It was silly. They'd held hands before, when everything was somewhat normal: they'd laced their fingers and sat at centimeter away from each other, so why was this such a big deal? "I forgive you."

Blaine pulled Kurt into a hug, and Kurt held his breath so his gasp wouldn't some out. "Thanks, Kurt."

Blaine pulled away, looking at Kurt, who appeared a bit too deep in thought to express emotion at the moment. But he batted his eyelashes, and Blaine couldn't help but wonder if he was only doing that because somehow he figured out it was Blaine's only weakness.

"So, I was wondering if I could take you up on your offer." Blaine said, digging in his jeans pocket until he found what he was looking for, pulling it out and placing it in Kurt's hand. Kurt only stared at the lavender-colored slips of paper in his hand.

"What offer?" Kurt asked, his eyes not leaving the curious things in front of him.

"You said, a while back, that we could start over, you know? Maybe forget the fact I'm an idiot, and an even bigger one when it comes to romance. I'm hoping, Kurt, that if I'm lucky, you might consider giving me a second chance. And this time I won't have any ideas of puppy love in my thick skull, mostly because I don't believe I'll ever be speaking with David again, ever. Under any circumstances." Blaine said. He knew he should have rehearsed before he went off making speeches. Everything was flowing off the top of his head. Wes would be so ashamed at his disability to follow the plan they'd spent an hour organizing.

The plan was a simple one: shamelessly fan self with tickets until Kurt asks about it. Get Kurt jealous by going on and on about a fictional boy named Lucas who liked strawberry milkshakes and could sing better then _anyone, _stressing the word anyone. It was now Blaine realized how much of a simply cruel plan that was.

"So, I mean, I know you like musicals. Unfortunately, we're in Ohio... I mean-"

"Ohio sucks." Kurt whispered. Blaine gave him a funny look, but if Kurt didn't say anything soon, his mouth would get permanently glued shut.

"Well, yeah, Ohio's no New York. With crappy low-budget theaters... so they didn't really have any good stuff you like. So I was just... uh, well, I don't even know what this is." Blaine said, sighing. But he squeezed his eyes shut and used every last bit of courage to admit the truth.

"Okay. Alright- I do know what it is. It's- alright, just don't kill me or anything like that- it's tickets to Disney Princesses on Ice." He admitted. "You don't have to come. But I know you like fairy tales and princess stories and all that... I just sorta like Disney."

It was silent for a moment before Kurt looked up at Blaine, realizing it was his cue to speak. He swallowed his fear and forced himself to appear confident, and the truth spilled out, for once, actually intentionally. "Look, Blaine. I should really just hate you. You know that and I know that. But... I can't do it. I just _can't _make myself hate you, and believe me, I've tried." Kurt said. Blaine looked a tad confused, but more or less worried he was supposed to be hated.

"Blaine, as much as I may appear it, I'm not a love-crazed idiot. I want love, of course, everyone does. But I never really believed in love at first sight, soul mates. It was the kind of thing that kept me going when I felt like crap, but it's like reading a story about a unicorn. It's happy and beautiful and uplifting, but deep down, you know that, no matter how much you want to believe, unicorns just _aren't _real. I mean, I thought that. But, God, Blaine, when we met and you ran down the hallway with your hand on mine, and you freaking sang _Teenage Dream- _the little angels that live on my shoulder were telling me, '_it's love, it's love, it's love,' _and I couldn't even find that little devil. Then, Blaine, last week, that devil showed up and told me I was ridiculous, and, yeah, what you and me had was only puppy love. And really don't think I should admit it, but-"

Kurt took a deep breath, grabbing Blaine's hand and looking in his eyes.

"It just feels like _so much _more then that."

Blaine stared at Kurt. He sounded like he meant everything, so much. Blaine wished _he _could of been the one to find those words, then, maybe they wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.

"And so, Blaine Warbler." Kurt said, standing up. "I _am _going to this _whatever _with you. I'm going to love the twirly ice skaters, and I'm going to love sitting two inches next to you, but I'm not going to show it. Because, my God, Blaine, I freaking _love _you, but you still have something to prove to me before I can really trust you again.

"Wait-" Blaine interrupted. He couldn't help but smile. "You love me?"

Kurt, of course, had said it before. But this... this was different. Blaine's head was clear this time, and Kurt was really supposed to hate him. So it was quite a pleasant surprise.

"I _didn't _say that." Kurt protested, folding his arms over his chest, his face turning deep shades of scarlet.

Blaine stood up, inching in on Kurt, smiling. "You _said, _and I quote, 'Blaine, I freaking love you.'"

"I- I wasn't thinking." Kurt mumbled, looking away and trying not to make eye contact with Blaine.

"Well, that's too bad." Blaine sighed, throwing himself back on the couch.

"Why?" Kurt shot, almost like he was waiting for an insult.

"_Because,_" Blaine explained, looking at the ceiling, simply torturing Kurt with his suspense. "I was _going _to tell you the feelings are mutual, but, seeing as how-"

"Blaine!" Kurt shouted, interrupting him. He looked at Blaine, in all seriousness, shocking Blaine out of his playful state. "You mean it?"

Blaine stood up, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder. He stood on the tips of his toes, trying to come off as tall and confident. "Kurt," He whispered. "_Of course _I mean it. I might be an _idiot _who just _sucks _at romance, and I even might have ran away when you said it the first time, but believe me, Kurt, I've never, _ever _meant anything more in my life. I _love _you, Kurt, and no matter how bad I am at showing it, I mean it."

Kurt blinked back the single tear in his eye, the one thing reflecting all the sappiness to the situation. "Blaine, you two-faced loser," He said, throwing his arms around Blaine's neck. Blaine stumbled back, but caught his balance after a moment. "I love you, too."

* * *

**The end. **_  
_


	37. Author's Note

**You, my dear person, are my life. Of course, other then my mum, and my dad, and the remainder of my family and friends, but other then them, you, darling, you random boy or girl, are a beautiful, wonderful person. **

Thank you. I just had to get that out of my system.

But, before this story is done for good, I have a lot to say. I hope I don't bore you to death, if you even take the time to read this. So here is my beautiful, final A/N of beauty- beauty that is bold. Hey, I'm proud. So here ya go: bolder author's notes you don't want to read.

**1. Oh yeah... that whole three week gap between the last chapter and the one before that? Huh. Funny you mention that, and no, I _don't _have an excuse or anything like that. Sorry. :/ I blame writer's block.**

**2. I love you. I really- I just _love _you. Thank you so much for reading this. I mean, I've learned so many things. Not only have I completed my first ever fan fiction (longer then a oneshot), but I learned quite a bit. I learned 'strait' is a river and 'straight' is a sexuality. I learned committing to a writing project is a _lot _harder then it seems. I have no doubt my writing skills have improved. My mom finally bought me Microsoft Word (as of last week) when she figured out that, hey, I would actually use it. Chapter three of this story is a good portion of why I might be skipping an entire _grade _next year, and I don't even _like _chapter three. I've got outstanding criticism and outstanding praise, both of which I am _so _thankful for. I feel like a real writer now. And it's all your fault. :)**

**3. I know this story was lacking good plot, and ended with the good plot unsolved. I understand this wasn't a very organized story, I understand Blaine is the most OOC thing that ever lived, and I understand I'm a sappy loser. I'm such a sappy losers my _charecters _know it. It's just, like, wow. Sappy. **

**4. Your amazing. Reviews are accepted with imaginary hugs, and even though I rarely respond, you guys must know I practically live on those things, and each and everyone of you who reviewed had made me like... super happy? I just really love you guys. One last review? Pwease? **

5. Alright, this is irrelevant and not in bold... but I thought I'd throw it out there. My next fan fiction, currently in process is, for all my Doctor Who buddies, is basically Eleven and well... who needs Amy Pond when you can replace them with a beautiful Kurt Hummel? If interest had been put, I'll be putting that on here within the next week or few.

**6. Ugg. Now I feel like I ruined the moment with #5. So I guess I must end it with this: **

**I love you. :)  
**


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